Fear and Loafing in Las Vegas
by David N. Brown
Summary: Continuation of "Trip To Vegas" and "Couples Therapy". A casino turned castle turns to Columbus, Wichita, Tallahassee and Little Rock for protection from zombies and bikers. But can the crew stay on the same side? David N. Brown resides in Mesa, Arizona.
1. Introduction

"**Survivors of the Apocalypse"**

_(Voice of Columbus)_

The virus that causes Human Psychotic Necrotizing Encephalopathy is believed to have originated from contaminated Mexican livestock feed. Because of its fast-acting nature, it was quickly detected, and most infected livestock and contaminated meat were quickly destroyed. But one batch reached Joe's Gas 'N Gulp in Tulsa, Oklahoma. At least fifty people were infected before health authorities shut down the station. By then it was too late. Poor Sooner bastards. _(Sooner Schooner overturned by zombies.) _

The virus causes damage both internal and external, particularly severe lesions of the skin and massive inflammation of the brain. Victims become hyperagressive toward all humans not already infected. They become insensitive to pain _(zombie burns face trying to eat off hot skillet)_ but more sensitive to light _(zombies run toward, then stagger away from, Luxor light)_, sound _(zombies converge on man dialing cell phone)_, and smell. _(Zombie sniffs man in zombie makeup, then attacks him.)_ A growing body of evidence suggests that attacks on uninfected humans are based less on the desire for food than an extreme form of intraspecies aggression. When they only want food, studies suggest they prefer peanut butter.

Symptoms of the virus manifest between 4 and 24 hours after exposure. Type I infections, believed to represent about 50% of cases, produce symptoms quickly. The especially sudden onset of inflammation in the brain makes them the most violent but least intelligent of the infected. _(Zombie bares its teeth at own reflection, then attacks the mirror.) _ The infection is fatal within days or even hours. 50-60% of the infected not killed by other causes are believed to have expired in this manner. _(Zombie keels over and lands on a pile of other, deceased zombies.)_

Type II infections, believed to represent 30-40% of cases, result in a slower deterioration of the brain. They lose whatever skills and intelligence remain. _(Zombie struggles to push open a door. Sign: PULL.)_ They may even become docile and responsive to commands. This is a danger in itself, as it may blind others to the fact that they are contagious. _(Man calls female zombie toward him.)_

Type III infections, representing at least 10% of cases, represent the greatest long-term threat. Deterioration of the brain is slow and plateaus at a relatively early stage. This leaves them with a relatively high intelligence, including tool-using abilities. _(Zombie fractures car window with rock.)_ They remain aggressive in their pursuit of the uninfected, and are able to exercise tactics and planning in carrying out this pursuit. _(Man running from group of zombies is attacked by one that lunges at him from a doorway as he passes.)_

_(Voice of Wichita)_

A high proportion of uninfected survivors were those who had previously lived as criminals. _(Wichita and Little Rock drive away, leaving Branson by roadside.)_ Members of motorcycle gangs were especially successful. They were able not only to fight off infected attackers, but to remain highly mobile. _(Bikers drive between wrecked cars blocking a road.)_ They collected large quantities of negotiable goods. _(Bikers remove rings from severed fingers.) _They sought out new sources of food and fuel. _(With shaking hands, Branson unfolds map and starts pointing out locations to bikers.)_

The bikers' ranks, however, soon began to dwindle. Some became infected. Some died in accidents _(Biker with no helmet loses top of head to semi side mirror)_ or from lack of access to routine medical care. _(Biker is torn apart by zombies while sitting in a blood pressure testing machine. Reading: 0.0.)_ Others were killed in battles with would-be victims, remnants of law enforcement _(Biker and __motorcycle cop lie dead; a second biker steals the cop's helmet)_, and each other _(Branson shoots biker chief in front of cheering gang)_.

But, even as numbers declined, remaining groups have become better organized. They have obtained body armor _(Branson passes out bullet-proof vests in abandoned police station)_, better weapons _(Machine gun and missile launcher are mounted on motorcycle sidecar)_, and vehicles _(M60 tank painted with skull and crossbones rolls over abandoned cars on freeway)_. They form alliances with other gangs._ (Bikers line up to shake hands with Branson in front of tank.)_ They stockpile fuel _(Gas is siphoned from abandoned cars and poured into oil tanker truck)_, food _(Tank hauls away refrigerated milk truck) _ and other supplies. They have created a support staff able to maintain their vehicles _(man in military uniform repairs tank)_ and provide medical care. _(Nurse treats biker Enid for stab wound.)_ Finally, they are mapping out where to find untapped resources. _(Branson thrusts knife into map at location of Las Vegas.)_ They are, after the infected, the greatest threat to the survival of the Circus community.

_(Voice of Columbus)_

So until next time, remember, the zombies aren't the only threat out there. Be smart. Be safe.

_(Voice of Wichita) _

And work together.


	2. Last Kiss

**Just a little vignette, still setting the stage...**

Columbus addressed the camera: "This room is in Manor B, currently occupied by Reno and Palo Alto Nevada. Palo Alto was last seen 3 days ago. Her husband was last seen yesterday. Repeated phone calls have not been answered. We are investigating a report of noises and a foul smell inside."

Approaching the door, he called out, "Reno? Palo Alto? This is Columbus Ohio. No one's seen you since yesterday. We're checking to see if you're okay." There was a rustling and a crash within.

Wichita stepped into the frame, Mossberg at ready. "I think it's time for rule 14: If they talk, talk..."

Columbus nodded and pulled up his mask. "If they don't talk, shoot." He looked back to the camera as he undid the locks. "For any civilians watching this... Even if you are armed, if you think there is an infection, don't try to handle it yourself. Call us."

"Something's jamming this from the inside," Wichita said, jiggling the handle unsuccessfully. There was a screech on the other side of the door, and the handle turned of its own accord. She fired through the door, then gave a kick. Columbus slammed against it and knocked it open, dropping back and swearing at a pain in his shoulder. A chain kept the door from opening all the way, and a chair could be seen in the way. Then the chair was pushed aside by a figure on hands and knees, that lunged for Wichita. Columbus grabbed the handle and slammed the door on a reaching hand. Wichita took two steps back. "Open it!" Columbus pushed the door back open, and as a lesioned face and hand tried to push through, Wichita fired again.

While the rest of the team entered the room, Columbus leaned against the wall. He pulled down his mask for better breathing, then clutched his shoulder. The camera focused on him as he winced. "What are you doing?" he said, meeting the camera's gaze. "Get in there!"

"Sorry," a female voice said.

"This is Reno, obviously," said one of the crew. The dead man inside the door was in his 50s or 60s.

"I've got Palo Alto in here!" Wichita called. Columbus and the camera followed.

"It's like * Snow White," said a man off camera. The woman, looking to be in her 40s and strikingly beautiful, was neatly tucked in, with a rose clasped in one hand on her chest. Wichita silently held up an empty bottle of pills. Another of the crew pulled her other hand out from under the sheets. A vivid crescent of a bite mark shown on the fleshy part of her thumb.

"No mystery how she went down," said the man. "But what happened to him?"

Columbus, after moving off camera, returned to view on the other side of the bed. "He kissed her," he said. Wichita and the others looked at him curiously. He pointed to her face. "Everything about her is perfectly posed, except her face. That's tilted right." The camera zoomed in. "And you can see how her lipstick is smeared. They had a last meal together, before the onset of symptoms... She took the pills... I'm guessing she took them all to make sure he wouldn't use them on himself... And when she was- gone, he gave her one last kiss. He died for it. He got the virus from the spit."

He took a deep breath and started giving orders. "This is a grade 1 scene... no spatter or decomp. Destroy the sheets, do a once-over of the rest of the room... We can have the room ready for someone else in a few days." He sighed and walked offscreen. Wichita followed.


	3. Search and Destroy

**Search and Destroy**

6 months had passed since the Pandemic reached Las Vegas. Now, the majority of the infected were dead, and the uninfected were beginning a campaign to retake the city. Today, the target was a two-story motel on the west side of town. "We form a perimeter, then do a standard room-by-room search," said Captain Sahara to his twenty deputies, as they unpacked weapons and folding chairs. "Document every kill, and eval-"

He was cut short by the sound of an air horn blown into a megaphone. "You know you want it!" shouted Tallahassee. "So come and get it!" There was a rustle in the bushes behind him, then the blast of a 28 gauge. Little Rock pumped her small shotgun as she stepped up beside him. From every room in view, at least one of the infected was emerging. He laughed as he opened fire. He sprayed the motel front with an assault rifle, and fired a grenade into the lobby entrance, where at least ten zombies were trying to jostle their way out. The deputies joined in, some unfolding their chairs for use as shields as per procedures, others standing and blasting away with as much abandon as Tallahassee. A 7.62mm machine gun in the back of a truck joined in, concentrating on the balcony.

Little Rock emptied her shotgun while Tal reloaded. Dozens of zombies lay dead, but they were still coming. A stream of them came through a passage in the middle of the ground floor. Tal countered with another grenade. There was a shower of broken masonry along with bodies and parts thereof, and the balcony above sagged visibly. A fire blazed merrily in the lobby. In several places, holes in the walls from bullet impacts were large enough to see through. Water sprayed from ruptured pipes, and sparks shot out of damaged wiring.

A fallen zombie got up and charged a deputy. An out-thrust chair folded halfway. He reeled back, barely keeping the zombie away. Two more deputies turned and fired, and the zombie and the man screamed. Little Rock shouldered her shotgun and drew a PPK pistol. She dispatched another stirring zombie with a shot to the head, and a second with two shots. Then a shout drew the attention of all to more zombies swarming out of a restaurant next door. The deputies belatedly formed a ring behind their chairs. Then there was another shout, and they saw still more zombies coming out of buildings all around them, particularly a larger motel half a mile down the street. Short bursts from the machine gun thinned their ranks but did not stop them. As the zombies surged into the parking lot, Tal charged, still laughing. He cut down at least a dozen zombies with a single flechette canister. Little Rock followed, covering his flanks while he emptied another clip at zombies slipping and tripping on the fallen. He laughed louder still as he drew a Colt .45 and a machete. One by one, with chairs or without, the deputies followed, and quite a few were laughing with him.


	4. Health and Safety

**Fair warning, this gets a little "naughty".**

As chief Health Officer for Circus Circus Casino, Columbus addressed his subordinates.

"I am glad to report that, thanks to our efforts, contagious disease is down 23%," he said. "Compliance with rules regarding sanitation is at 87%. Finally, I have finalized the new and expanded rules..." Wichita stood in the back of the room, in an archway just out of easy view from the lectern. At this, she slapped her forehead. Her husband began answering questions."No, we don't know when or how Mrs. Nevada was bitten," Columbus said. "Her duties regularly take her outside the perimeter, so there is no reason to believe that one of the infected breached security."

"Is it true she was asymptomatic?" asked a doctor.

"There were no symptoms at the time of her death," Columbus said, "but, had she lived longer, we have no reason to doubt she would have become a typical `zombie'. There is still no confirmed case of one of the infected failing to develop symptoms. This tragedy has confirmed that, even if no symptoms are evident, the HPNE virus can still pass from person to person, and is highly dangerous... Any other questions? Okay, thank you for your time. Please collect a copy of the revised rules on your way out."

Another woman at the back of the room lowered a camera and turned to Wichita. "I'm Meg Strangelove," the other woman said. "I think I filmed you on this morning's mission."

"If you were there, I was there," she said. She shifted, revealing a scandalous red top under her jacket.

"Listen, are you-"

"Yes," Wichita said. She leaned back against the wall, waiting for her husband to separate himself from the crew. Finally, he made his way back. After a moment's hesitation, Strangelove stepped into his path.

"Hi," she said. "I'm Strangelove... after the movie... I've been filming you- I mean, the Health operations- a while now, and I have a few ideas for new projects: public service films, basically."

"Yes, that's something I've been wanting to do," he said, showing genuine interest. "I've been following your work, actually. A lot of people think you're one of the best we have... and I noticed you have submitted more film than anyone else. We definitely look for dedication..." Wichita stepped into view. "Ah- but I need to, ah, get to another meeting. I'd like to see some of your ideas- just write them up and leave them on my desk!" Wichita took him by the arm and practically dragged him away.

They walked briskly back to their hotel room. They had found other places, some of which she liked better in some ways, but she knew none of them would work for what else she had in mind. She gave herself to him, enjoying it but not losing herself in it, and when it was done, she calmly said, "We need to talk."

Columbus nodded. "I know, what happened is sad. What do we need to talk about?"

"You know."

He sat up, reached out and brushed her hair back. "If you need to talk about it, say it."

She took a deep breath. "Did he die for the kiss- or did he kiss her to die?"

"Look," he said, "we don't know what will happen-"

"We know how the odds run. You're the one who plays things safe. I'm okay with it."

"Oh, god," he said. He pulled her to him and kissed the top of her head, then rocked and stroked her hair almost anxiously. "I don't-"

"Don't," she said, "please don't say it." He wept silently, saying nothing.

She waited for him to calm down, then cupped her hands to his face and said, "Look... We talked about this with Dr. Stanford. You don't lie, and you don't break promises. It's part of who you are and I love you for it. I want you to promise me, now... You will never do that for me. _Ever_. If I go, you stay. For the Circus. For Tal. For Little Rock. For our babies. And for _me_." Her nails left red marks on his cheeks. He only wept in silence.

"I can't," he said. "Not now... not for sure. I love you. I still don't understand how much I love you. I don't know what I would do without you. But I... I swear I'll try. For you... and her... I'd try anything . If I can't, it won't be your fault. That's all I can say." He wept. She kissed him, and didn't stop until he was calm. She extricated herself as he passed into sleep, replaced or refastened her clothing, and stepped outside. Her sister was leaning against the door waiting for her. They walked off together. Little Rock's expression went slowly from veiled distaste, to a smirk, to a genuine grin. Finally, she punched her sister in the arm, and Wichita punched back.

"So, he really doesn't notice anything else when he's with you," Little Rock said conversationally.

"Nope."

"Now he's asleep?"

"Yep. It's almost like a coma... I think it's a stress response."

"What did you do to him?"

"Mostly, I talked about the Future Of Out Relationship... And since when do you care?" Wichita slugged her system's arm again, this time hard enough to stagger her. "I noticed you were a bit slow shutting the door. I think maybe you're turning into a bit of a freak." Little Rock came back at her with a running shove. Wichita countered by throwing an arm around her sister. "He loves you too, you know."

"Yeah."

"So, what did you do this morning?"

"We killed 500 zombies, or thereabouts... I saved Tal's life a few times... Then the chief threw Tal in the holding tank."

"What do you want to do now?"

"Let's go to the Adventuredome!"


	5. Lockup

**Lockup**

Columbus entered the storerooms that served as the Circus Circus jail at 3 in the afternoon. Tallahassee had been languishing in lockup since lunchtime. Chief Sahara jumped to his feet as Columbus entered. "There you are, finally!" he said. "Now, I'm hoping you can help me talk some sense into this yo-yo."

"Let him out first," Columbus said. The Chief complied. "Now tell me what happened."

"We killed 600 zombies, give or take," Tal said.

"He got 4 good men killed," said the chief. "And he destroyed a motel we could have used to house more people!"

"The zombies were comin' an' goin' as they pleased," Tal countered. "People didn't need it."

"With the damage you did, it will be even easier for them, and harder for us to flush them out!"

"Hold on," said Columbus. "First things first: Where's the kill logs, the structural maps?" Tal and the chief both glared at each other. "There was no opportunity to document kill sites," the chief said.

"We didn't need to document, we were killing 'em," Tal said.

Columbus sighed. "I thought you understood this, Tallahassee: We're to the point where collecting information about the zombies is more important than destroying them. We need to know how many zombies are around, how many of them are Type IIIs and how many are just more recent infections. We need to know where they go in the day, when they aren't hunting. We need to know what they're eating, besides us and each other. We need to find out if the swarms are developing truly social behavior. Luring out hundreds of zombies and mowing them down doesn't help us accomplish any of that!"

"Neither does getting men killed!" the Chief snapped.

"Let me tell you something," Tal said. "I took one good look at that place, and I knew if we went in there, at least one of us was gonna die. Wasn't gonna be the kind o' way a man could be proud of, neither: A flesh wound from a zee they didn't see coming, wiring that still had juice in it, a wall or a floor waiting to collapse. So, sure I lured the zombies out. I got them all where we could see them, and I gave those boys a chance to die fighting like men, not filling out a checklist." He met Columbus's gaze with a defiant stare. Under other circumstances, Columbus would have either flinched or argued. But, with his mind and body still fresh from his time with Wichita, he was able to meet Tal's case and nod. He remembered his one rewritten rule: _Don't__ be a hero._

"So, you made a hard decision," Columbus said calmly. "Nobody can say you didn't have reason. But things like what you did aren't going to get us the information we need. Any idea how we can get that without sending crews into buildings?" Tal smiled...

Dwarfstud (who carried his name over from WoW) ate with his friends at the snackbar outside the Adventuredome arcade. One of his companions looked suddenly surprised, almost frightened, then resumed eating without explanation. Another, a girl whom he had been trying to impress, looked over his shoulder and covered her mouth to hide what he was sure was a laugh. A boy across from him tilted his head and subtly smiled. "What?" said Dwarfstud. "What's so funny?" Just then, a small hand brushed his shoulder. He whirled around, to find himself looking straight into a pale, lesioned, red-streaked face.

His high-pitched, ululating cry could be heard over most of the Adventuredome.

Little Rock smiled, exposing the rotten and crooked teeth that completed her version of the late Bill Murray's zombie disguise. "Could we have your bottle of ketchup?" she said.


	6. The War For Vegas

**Here's some backstory, some of which I developed previously and some of which I needed to set down before moving on. I picture it as the equivalent of a patriotic/propaganda film. Stanford is an original character introduced in "Couples' Therapy" (rated M), and I could see him played by David Hyde Pierce.**

_17 weeks earlier..._

As the fighting died down, casino security finally descended the stairs from the Skyrise Casino to the Tower ground floor. They found a surprising number of survivors, but only five of them were among the bodies and broken furniture that packed the corridor. The lead officer spoke to the only one standing, a man who stood there, looking around and twirling his wedding ring.

"Sir," said the officer, "are you or any of them bit?"

He paused, long enough for the officer to tense, but then said, almost absentmindedly. "No... No, we took care of that."

"What's your name, sir?" said the officer.

The man stood there blank-faced, as if trying to remember himself. Then he pulled off the ring and threw it among the dead. "Call me Stanford," he said.

_(Voice of Stanford)_

The Las Vegas area was a nexus in the spread of the HPNE pandemic, receiving 3 of the individuals who were infected at the Tulsa Gas 'N' Gulp: _(Balding gas station attendant serves) _Srini Patel, a medical student on his way back to the University of Las Vegas _(young Indian man counts to see if he has enough change to pay for his purchase), _Stan Phillips, a long-haul trucker _(muscular man in 40s with plaid shirt pays and converses, then takes bite out of burger as he walks back to semi) _and Harvey Morrison , a businessman trying to make it to the airport in time for his flight to a convention _(middle-aged businessman runs out without paying)_. Onset in these first cases was delayed, sometimes by up to 72 hours.

By the time these individuals manifested symptoms, they had already exposed many people to the disease. _(Patel takes a swig from a beer bottle before passing it on to a blond girl. Morrison kisses stewardess in airplane bathroom. Stewardess kisses pilot, pilot kisses another stewardess.) _All three went prodromal in public areas. _(Stan Phillips enters Slots-A-Fun Casino next door to Circus Circus. Morrison enters convention center. Patel runs into Desert Springs Hospital.)_

Infections quickly spread from multiple epicenters. _(Zombies chase students out of university dorm; battle police in front of convention center; attack hospital staff; charge down "tunnel" of lights in Fremont Street.) _ Related accidents compounded the damage. (Zombie airline pilot attacks copilot as plane drops toward Caesar's Palace.) In a matter of hours, half the city was consumed, either by infection or by flames. _(Zombies chase victims through upper stories of MGM Grand, while flames, smoke and dust billow from collapsing buildings blocks away.) _ But to the north, some fought back.

At Mirage and Treasure Island, tens of thousands of the infected from the southern epicenters were held at bay. _(Men in pirate costumes in a row boat use oars to beat zombies wading through Buccaneer Bay.)_ Staff and guests at the Golden Nugget, 4 Queens, Fremont and Binion's hotel-casinos joined with remnants of the LVPD in an offensive against a secondary outbreak originating from the Plaza Casino. _(Police, armed security guards and civilians with a mix of weapons push zombies back down Fremont Street.) _ The Sahara Casino was resecured after a breach of the casino entrance. _(Two police shoot at passing zombies from the top of a lighted onion dome.) _And at our own Circus Circus, a 36-hour battle was waged with the infected.

Circus Circus was literally next door to one primary epicenter _(zombies pour out of Slots-A-Fun)_ and within blocks of another _(zombie "flood" rushes from convention center to Las Vegas Boulevard, then turns toward Circus Circus)_. The main casino was overrun, though even there survivors held out. _(Men upend table to bar door of poker room, scattering cards and chips. Under "Big Top" canopy, two trapeze artists leap and swing about, kicking zombies off "midway" upper level.)_ From there, the infected chased survivors down the main corridor. Hard decisions made the difference between life and death. _(Survivors pound on locked door of west casino before being eaten. Zombies follow survivors into Circus Buffet.) _ At the end of the same corridor, a second incursion overran the front desk. _(Zombies climb over crashed limo to reach VIP entrance.) _ A third incursion broke into the Skyrise Tower _(Stanford looks outside conference room door, slams it on zombie hand)_ and additional zombies attacked the outlying Manor buildings and RV park_ (mobile home runs over zombies; Manor C burns in background)_.

Security and other staff retreated to the promenade level of West Tower. _(Overweight security guard races zombies up "down" escalator.)_ An elevated position provided the advantage necessary to halt the advance of the infected. (Guards at top of escalators fire down at zombies, whose bodies pile up at top of up escalator.) A secondary outbreak among bitten survivors was put down. _(Guard shoots zombie, looks at bite on hand, then puts gun in his mouth.) _ The Skyrise Tower was kept secure through resistance by guests. _(Stanford leads "phalanx" of men with chairs; props up chair with foot while he empties fire extinguisher in faces of zombies, then picks up chair in one hand while swinging extinguisher like a club with the other.) _A counteroffensive by security and civilian volunteers culminated in the storming of the main casino. _(Trapeze artist slams dying zombie's face through screen of video slot machine.)_ At the end of the siege, Circus Circus was secure and free of infection.

At the end of the battle, the staff and guests of Circus Circus were no longer a business and its clients, but members of a community. Rather than looking only after our own needs, we have extended our resources to aid others. We have helped other communities of survivors. _(In front of Sahara, hundreds of zombies lie dead; Circus Circus guards help police officers get down from dome.) _ We have taken in refugees from all over the country. _(Packed buses, cars and RVs are directed to garages or RV parks.)_ We have taken the initiative in clearing the infected from our city, in locating stores of food, recolonizing habitable structures and developing sustainable sources of food. _(Vegetables grow in hydroponics tanks in Adventuredome. Chickens are placed in pens on the roof. Wheat grows on a country club golf course.)_ We stand as a beacon of hope to all survivors of the Pandemic.

We are Las Vegas. We are America. We are Circus Circus.


	7. Heroes and Idols

**Another chapter with Stanford... I would be especially interested in feedback on this and the previous chapter.**

**Heroes and Idols **

Wichita eagerly picked up the phone, absolutely certain who it would be. "Hi, lover," she said.

On the other end of the line, Columbus coughed. Tal grinned, the chief looked impatient, and Strangelove just looked thoughtful. "Hi... hon," he said. "Listen, uh, can I talk to Little Rock?"

"Sure, just a moment..." Little Rock, sitting on the same bed, raised her eyebrows. "So, did your day go any better...?" He answered almost boisterously, loud enough for little Rock to listen in and smile, and at greater length than necessary. Wichita also smiled, but there was a hint of disappointment on her face. "So, you won't be back in time for dinner?"

"No," Columbus said, "I probably won't be back till after general curfew. So, uh, don't wait up for me... I can send Tal up, the chief agreed to let him out... Okay, long as you're all right... Um... Could I talk to Little Rock now?"

Little Rock took the phone. "Yeah... Fine... I'll be right down."

She hung up and looked curiously at her sister. "Go, I'll be fine," Wichita said.

Ten minutes later, still sitting at the same spot, she began to cry. Twenty minutes after that, she managed to dial the phone.

"Please realize, by professional ethics, I am forbidden to do anything remotely like this," Stanford said as he entered.

"Yeah, I think the boards are way past caring... Sit down," Wichita said. She was barely visible under the covers, but it was clear enough she was covered by little if anything else.

"I would rather stand," Stanford said politely.

"I'd rather you sit." Stanford sat, in the chair furthest from the bed.

After long minutes of silence, Stanford said, "I heard about the couple this morning. Very unfortunate." After a pointed pause, he continued, "Did you talk to him about it?"

"Yes. I got him in bed first, so he'd be less anxious," she said. "I know that's not going to be in anyone's book of healthy ways to communicate, but you've seen how tight he gets! Then we talked... about what we would do without me. He was a wreck, I mean total meltdown, just talking about it. But now he's at work, enjoying himself, and here I am."

It was the kind of remark where Stanford was in the habitat of leaning forward to show interest, but he made a point of keeping his posture entirely upright. "Why did you feel you needed to discuss it?"

"He thinks I'm stronger than he is," Wichita said, with surreal calm. "He thinks he needs me. I'm pretty sure he still thinks he doesn't deserve me. But it's not true. He's the one who's stronger, and other people can see it. I need him more than he needs me or anyone else. And I'm the one who doesn't deserve him." As she spoke, she clenched her teeth, while tears ran down her cheeks.

"Are you afraid he will leave you?" Stanford said.

"Actually, the damnedest thing... I'm more afraid that he won't!" Wichita said, her voice rising to a contralto screech. "He told me, once, when I asked him, that he fell in love with me because I was the first woman who was _kind_ to him! Not a big self-esteem booster, is it? Number one in a field of one, just for acting like a decent human being!... And _me_ for * sake!"

She spent a few minutes taking deep breaths, while Stanford studiously examined the curtains. Finally, she continued,"Sometimes I think about baby birds... You know, how birds imprint on whatever takes care of them. So, if a bird gets raised by people, it thinks it's one of them, and after that, it isn't interested in being with other birds, not even to mate with them! You'd think _that _would be pretty well hard-wired, but nope, apparently it takes learning. And I feel like I'm the one who raised the bird, only it was already a grown-up bird that never got what it should have had from the start... And now, he walks around my house, and sleeps in my bed, when he should spread his wings and fly away with the other birds."

"You think there is a better partner for him?" Stanford asked.

"How could there not be?" Wichita said. Under his curious gaze, she added, "I've seen him with somebody... He doesn't recognize it, maybe even _she_ doesn't, but I do. She sees him like I did, when we met, and once he sees that, he'll know that what he thinks he's in love with me for is what he could have had from _anybody_ all along, if he had just let people through."

"And you don't think anything else about you would be attractive to him?" She shook her head mutely. "Mightn't that be judging yourself too harshly, the same way you believe he judges himself too harshly?"

She sighed. "Nice try, doc, but it's not the same. He never did anything to the people who hurt him."

"All in all, I think what you are feeling are normal insecurities, about self-worth and the future of a new relationship," said Stanford. Leaning in, slightly, he said, "But why did you ask _me_ here?"

"C'mon... You're one of the Thirty. You know what you did."

"Actually, not a great deal," Stanford said. "Events like that don't lend themselves to detailed observation, and memory is a treacherous thing. There are things I remember, things I think I remember, things the other four said they remembered- when there were still five of us... Then there are the stories... When I think of those, compared to what I can recall... Well, I could well despair, of memory and folklore both."

Wichita sat up, and he managed at exactly the same time to look at the floor. "Stanford... I've seen the _footage_."

Stanford met her gaze. "Really! I didn't know they had any." She nodded, and in her eyes he saw sympathy, admiration and a little outright awe. In his eyes, he saw the same.

"Something of an irony, isn't it? You seek my help understanding yourself, when I struggle with the same thing."

After a long silence, Wichita said, "Doc?" He gave a "hm?" of surprise. "Get out of here! I want to get dressed!" He was already on his way as she spoke.


	8. Nightmare

**A little "filler"... I thought of this first as an inside joke, based on a report that Emma Stone auditioned as 406 before being chosen to play Wichita. Needless to say, things took a more serious turn.**

"408!" a voice called through the door. "Let me in, I need help!"

Columbus- only he went by another name now- opened the door, and 406 fell into his arms. Only, it was not the 406 he remembered, but a woman with dark hair and bright blue eyes. He listened absentmindedly, sometimes noticing a line that he somehow knew was wrong. "We were homeless... We did what we had to... I just want someone to care about me," said the different 406. "Someone who can keep me safe." Then she fell asleep.

He knew something else was wrong when only a moment passed between when she rested her head on his shoulder and when she rose. As bile dripped from her mouth, she said, "I love you more than you love me." As she chased him through the kitchen, she added, "Sometimes I think you don't even know me!"

"I don't want to hurt you, Wichita," he said. "I just need a little space..."

"You want a whore to go with your wife," she screeched as she chased him to the bathroom. As they fell struggling, she said, "I tried to be a whore for you, but you didn't want me that way. Am I not good enough for you? Or is it just that you don't want a wife and a whore in the same package?"

"Please, Krista, if you're in there, you're just angry!" he said as he ran back down the hall. "We can work things out!"

"This is what I've always been," his wife said as she lurched toward him. "If you can't love me for who I am, then _go_!" He dropped the cover of the toilet tank, embraced her and kissed her.

He awoke with a start, then stifled a cry as lips pressed against his neck. It was Wichita, nuzzling him in her sleep. The clock showed 7:00. Outside, the sun was rising. She looked up at him drowsily. "Wha's the matter?"

"Nightmare," he said. "I- dreamed you turned into a zombie."

"I've had that one," she said.

He kissed the top of her head. "You know I love you, right?" She nodded. "You want to know a reason why?" She looked up, suddenly looking wide awake and interested. "It's never been just because you were kind to me. I know that wasn't the right thing to say. It's not like you were the first girl who was nice to me. I've had that happen before, though nowhere near often enough for me to get used to. I fell in love with you because I could tell that in your heart, you always wanted to be kind, and you didn't have to need help with your homework, or want a non-threatening male friend, or even want me for your boyfriend to be kind to me. That's when I decided you were someone I could fall in love with."

She sighed and kissed him, glancing to the other bed. "Where are Tal and Little Rock?"

"I'm not sure," Columbus said nonchalantly, "but he said they had an errand to run in the morning."


	9. The Caddy

"Why are we coming all the way out here for our SUV?" Little Rock said. "We already have everything we need from the vehicle pool."

"Because," Tal said as they shot past the limits of Las Vegas in a '64 Jeep dubbed "Tremors truck", "it's not just an SUV, it's my SUV. My Caddy." When they arrived in Vegas, it had been by helicopter. The vehicle they had used since leaving the home of the late Bill Murray had been left on the wreck-choked road to Las Vegas. Repeated requests to go back and retrieve their vehicle had been refused.

"Has the Sahara patrol been clearing the road?" Little Rock said. "Because it sure seems like there's a lot fewer wrecks."

"No," Tal said, swerving around a pileup, "they've got their hands more than full just in the city. But you're right, things are different. It's not like any road-clearing job I've seen, though. They didn't clear it so much as push the wrecks to one side or the other- never the same side, either. You can get along fine, but you can't go very fast and you can't see very far ahead." He swerved around another pileup. "What the-" There, straight ahead of them, was the "Caddy".

"Wait here," Tal said. As he started to get out, two men wearing lots of leather stepped into view. One lazily twirled a ball and chain.

"Move on," he said, "or you'll get a real mace face."

"That's not a mace," Tal said. Little Rock handed him a 4-foot specimen from an abandoned weapons shop. "This is a mace... See, the ball part's attached directly to the shaft, no chain. What you have there is a flail. Now get out of the way. All we want is that caddy."

"Maybe it's not yours to take," said the biker.

"It is mine!" Tal said indignantly.

The biker who up to that point had been silent spoke: "It's him!"

The other biker lowered his weapon and raised a hand in a conciliatory gesture. "Okay, just a bit of a misunderstanding. We're guarding it, see? Orders from the Chief himself."

"Who's the Chief?"

"Branson Missouri." Before they had come to Circus Circus, they had had a run-in with a band of bikers led by Branson, who before entering the gang had been relieved of his car by Wichita and Little Rock.

"What does he want with me?"

"Actually, he wants to talk," said the biker with the flail. "He left a letter in the glove compartment." He shrugged. "That's all I know."

The two bikers pulled their motorcycles from among the wrecks. The other turned around and spoke: "If you ever do see the chief, watch out for a big guy named Nails- well, now we call him Nails. He's awfully sore about what you did to him."

Tal frowned. "If he's the one I'm thinking of, all I did was hit him over the head." Now both bikers looked at him, with surprised and confused expressions.

Little Rock spoke: "_I_ was the one with the nail gun."

"Really," one biker said with a smirk. Then the pair rode off.

"You can drive the Caddy back," Tallahassee said. "I'll drive this truck."

Little Rock nodded and started to open the door, but then shut it. "Tal, there's something I have to know," she said. "When we ran into Branson and the other bikers, you didn't shoot. You said you couldn't , because they weren't zombies. But when we met in the grocery store, and you thought I was bitten..." She teared up, leaving the question to hang unasked but obvious.

Tal was silent for the better part of ten minutes, twice opening his mouth as if to start to answer only to say nothing. Finally, he said, "I could have done it, then... And I've thought ever since, about what I could have done, almost did... And now I can't. It's that simple."

She embraced him as they both cried. "It's okay," she said. "I forgive you... and thank you."


	10. Census

**Census**

_1 month later..._

Columbus addressed the management of Circus Circus. "The main purpose of this meeting," he said, "is to present the findings of the census. This has been largely complete for some time, but its release was delayed due to some findings deemed... improbable.

"The total, permanent population of Las Vegas before the Pandemic was 600,000. There were also more than 140 thousand hotel rooms, enough to hold roughly the same number of visitors. An additional 1.2 million lived in the extended Vegas metro area.

"Circus Circus's current population, including the RV park and remaining manor buildings, has been estimated at 50,000, more than three times is intended capacity. After a more careful survey, including the common areas, parking structures, and immediately adjacent structures, we believe the number actually significantly exceeds 60,000. The Travel Suites and Inn represents the largest concentration of those previously uncounted; it currently holds 1,200, in 100 rooms and other improvised living spaces including a drained pool. Ours is the largest population center in Vegas, but not by a large margin Treasure Island has 2,884 rooms and suites, and currently holds 40,000, including a large `tent city' in what used to be Buccaneer Bay. The Sahara has 1,720 rooms, and reports 10,000 current residents, with an additional 5,000 in an adjacent storage facility. The Fremont Street alliance have a combined 3900 rooms, occupied at approximately their intended capacity for 20,000. It adds up to a population of at least 139,000 uninfected human survivors, in the casinos alone. In all probability, at least as many are living in various dwellings distributed throughout the city."

"What about the infected?" said the CEO.

Columbus swallowed. This was the part that the statisticians themselves had been incredulous over. "10,000... at most."

There was stunned silence, then: "That can't be right."

"They overran the country!" another executive bellowed. "How can _we_ outnumber _them_ 30 to 1??"

Others began to yell. The CEO waved his hand for silence. "Quiet, please!"

Columbus looked down at his netbook, where he had at his fingertips the reports, numbers and photos that would prove everything he had to say. Instead, he swore and slammed his fist on the table. There was a moment of stunned silence, broken only by a click as he shut the netbook. "You know what you are really saying? That we can't win. And when we lose, it can't be because we let the zombies win. As long as you believe that, there's no point in trying to show you otherwise."

He rested his hands on the table. "Look, I know how it is. When you're alone, and afraid, you get used to it. You get used to hiding, so you stop asking yourself what you're hiding from. You get used to losing, so you stop fighting. You get used to no help from anyone, so you stop asking for it. But someday, you look back on all the road behind you, the dragons you could have slain but never fought, the things you could have done but never tried, the walls you tried to climb when you could have knocked them down... and you wish there was a way to go back. A way to do things differently, or even just to know what _could_ have been if just once, you had stopped and said, `This far and no farther!'"

There was more silence. Then the CEO began to clap. Not all joined in: Some only nodded, a few rolled their eyes or shook their heads, and a VP remained soundly asleep. But those who clapped, started quickly, to make a loud chorus of applause. As Columbus surveyed the room, Wichita stepped out from the doorway, not clapping but smiling brightly.


	11. Night Vision

**This references my "prequel" fan fic "Shoe shopping". Please read if you haven't, and if you don't mind an "M" rating.**

"It's long been agreed that the most important objective is not the elimination of the zombies, but detailed information on their numbers, whereabouts and behavior," Columbus said. "The response was to hunt zombies while they are indoors during daylight, at the same time mapping said buildings. This method has been successful, but is slow, man power intensive... and dangerous. Engaging zombies at such close quarters has resulted in steady attrition from bites, not high but, unlike straight combat, not diminishing over time. These represent less than 20% of casualties. Most are caused by accidents due to damaged and deteriorating structures: collapses, fires, electrocutions, a few explosions. The number and toll of these accidents has gone up with the use of larger search parties. This highlights the fundamental inadequacy of these methods in an effective, long-term campaign to reclaim the city: Not less than two thousand zombies, a fifth at least of those that survive, are nesting in the Flamingo-Hammonds cluster, of Bally's, Paris, Planet Hollywood and the Bellagio. It would take days and thousands of men to sweep these buildings, which is why no action has been taken against the largest infestation in the city. But I have an alternative."

There was a startled cry in the back. Everyone turned to see Little Rock, in her zombie makeup. Strangelove, the camerawoman, turned to film a closeup. The CEO turned back at once. "Clever, but useless for any practical purpose. You wrote a report in which you said yourself, that at close ranges zombies identify each other by scent. `Disguise is useful only in daylight at ranges of 10 m or more.'"

"But we can mask human scent," Columbus said, "particularly by using garments stained with the zombies' own- fluids."

"Yeah, and a little sauerkraut helps," Little Rock said cheerfully. Executives were wrinkling their noses. Strangelove stepped back. Just out of view from the front, Wichita buried her nose in her jacket.

"Ingenious, but that is only part of the problem," the CEO said. "The other and much larger one is that no one but a zombie can navigate inside a building without the aid of artificial light, which will obviously blow the disguise."

"I don't believe that's the case," said Columbus. "The zombies do not have physiologically superior vision compared to the uninfected. If anything, they have poorer eyesight, due to generally poor nutrition. It's the brain, not the sense organs, that are different, and it doesn't take the action of a virus to produce such differences. In the 1800s, it was thought that the native Americans had superhuman senses, because of their ability to locate resources and track humans and animals through the desert. But when proper eye tests were performed, the average Indian did not perform as well as average white men. Culture and experience, not biology, was the source of the Indians' talents. In the last century, the gap between sensory abilities and their utilization has only widened. Electric street lights ruin natural night vision, leaving urban populations without a frame of reference even to understand what they have lost..."

Wichita sighed and stepped out from the wall. Columbus practically buckled at the knees. "Hon... Don't beat around the bush. Tell them." When he only coughed in reply, she continued, "There's a few things he hasn't told you, because he's modest. He once had an entire pack of zombies chase him through an office building, with the lights were out. But he made it out, after he killed them all."

The board stared at Columbus with varying combinations of surprise, awe and outright disbelief. He managed to stammer, "Uh... that's not really what happened..." There were nods, and mutters like "braggart" and "hero worship", heedless of Columbus's attempts at explanation: "See... The electricity was still on, so there was still light from all the electronics. And the pack split up, so only seven came in after me... "

"Wait!" said the CEO. "You killed seven zombies in the dark?"

"Well, there were eight, counting one that was already inside. The rest of them found me after I shot it."

"In the dark."

"No, like I said, there was plenty of light: LEDs, monitors, exit signs... oh, and a soda machine."

"So, what," said a VP, "you shot by the light from the soda machine?"

"No, the exit sign."

"The one at the door you came in?"

"No, it was across the office... I guess the other sign was broken."

"And I suppose nobody in your party witnessed this?" said the CEO.

"No, I was alone then... Actually, it was another month until I met Tal, and two weeks when we met..."

"I didn't see it," Wichita interjected, "but I know he can do everything he says. When I'm asleep, or he thinks I am, he reads by the light from the LED alarm clock. I've seen it."

Columbus sputtered: "Well- see- there's also light from the streets and parking lots..."

"Really!" said the CEO. "Your room is at the base of the far corner of the main tower, the spot furthest from the parking lots. I understand you traded several large favors for it!"

"And- it's a bright alarm clock." He met their eyes, and sighed. "Look, this is why I don't talk about this to anybody but family. People look at me like I'm a freak or a superhero, instead of asking why they couldn't do the same things themselves!"

There was a long, awkward silence. Then Little Rock said, "I can see by that clock too." As eyes shifted toward her, she continued, "I couldn't read by it, but I can see him and K- Wichita. Sometimes, when he's done reading, he watches her sleep and runs his fingers through her hair until he goes to sleep too." Columbus met his young sister-in-law's eyes, frowned, and nodded reluctantly.

"That makes two of us," Columbus said. "I'm sure there are more. We can learn more about the zombies and their dwellings five, ten or twenty minutes than a search party of armed men could in an afternoon. Then, with what we learn, we can wipe them out faster and much more safely."

As somewhat bashful applause broke out, he scanned for his wife. But she was back out of sight, and not just in her usual niche. She was backing up to the door, her hands clasped to her chest as if her heart was in pain at what her husband and her sister proposed to do. Then she departed with a slam, having found herself suddenly in urgent need to be sick.


	12. Locker Room

**Another ref to "Shoe Shopping" here...**

The woman who called herself Melissa Strangelove was nervous as she donned the uniform of an outside patrol. She was even more nervous to find Wichita Ohio undressing across from her locker. "Uh... Hi. I'm Strangelove; we've met, but you might not remember..."

"No, I remember," the other woman said, as she redressed in a business-like fashion. "My husband talks about you a lot." Her tone was all but accusatory.

"Well, we've been working together a lot... I guess now you get to come too."

"Yeah. Great." Wichita sounded anything but happy. She grudgingly looked up, giving Strangelove a good view of a ruby necklace along with her own form. "So, where are you from?"

"I was raised in Washington- the state, that is- and I went to LA to attend cinematography school."

"I take it you named yourself after your favorite film?" Strangelove nodded. "Well, just remember we don't need Stanley Kubrick, we need someone who can shoot straight, with a gun or a camera. Were you in LA when the Pandemic hit?"

"No, I was shooting a project at Lake Mead, on the Arizona side. I rode a tour bus- actually, a few soldiers were driving- across the Hoover Dam, with a swarm right behind... Some of them were my friends."

Wichita paused from buttoning her shirt. "When was this?"

"Week 2."

"But Vegas was already infested by then!"

"So we gathered... I don't know where we were supposed to go, but the bus got stuck in Enterprise, and I hoofed it east. Where did you start from?"

"Tulsa, Oklahoma. 'Nough said."

"Yikes!" Strangelove glanced again at Wichita's necklace. "Say, where'd you get that?"

Wichita held up the stone. It was a ruby carved in the shape of a heart, with a zigzagging strip of gold down the middle. "He- Columbus, I mean- got it for me as a wedding present. I think he got it from a store we went through on the way to Vegas." She let it drop inside her shirt. "He said he wanted me to have it, but that I shouldn't show it to people. I figured it was an apology for the engagement ring."

She held up her finger. "That looks nice," said Strangelove.

"Yeah. Amazing what you can get for $30 at Walmart. I had a whole envelope full of them with me: My sister and I had a scam where I would say I lost a ring, and would pay a reward, then my sister would collect a reward for finding it. When my Columbus proposed, it was the best he could find." She twisted it and winced. "The metal's so cheap it gives me a rash. He got me a nice ring with an opal, but I still wear this one. I don't really know why. Sentimental, I guess."

"So," Strangelove said, "Columbus said you only met during the Pandemic... How long ago?"

Wichita furrowed her brow. "You know, I haven't even thought about it in a while... It was week 12 of the Pandemic, straight up, when we met. Three and a half months ago."

"Wow. You seem so... don't mind my saying... settled," said Strangelove. "What happened?"

"No offense taken, but it's an odd way to put it," said Wichita. "I stole his gun, and Tallahassee Florida's SUV. Then we ran into each other again the same day, and we decided to team up."

"How long did it take to get, you know, involved?"

Wichita smiled. "Well... I guess it was two weeks before we decided to be a couple... a month before we, well, went _all_ the way... then a week after that we had a wedding." She sighed, and turned while she finished buttoning her shirt. She glanced over her shoulder and said, "Say... Why'd you ask about the necklace? Do you know anything about what it, you know, means?"

Strangelove looked at her in surprise. "What, you didn't...?"

Wichita stood alone in a stall, the door behind her shut but not locked, twisting the ring. She knew it was the only ring she could wear, certainly the only one she _deserved_ to wear. She had used it as a prop to deceive and rob. Now it was her cross to bear, the albatross around her neck (she realized with a pang that she only knew what that meant from Columbus), a sham ring to bind her to a sham relationship that had somehow turned real. She told herself that her critical error had been trying to seduce a man she had actually cared about. She couldn't let that happen again, as if it ever could... And look at the trouble it got her into, three months of being adored by a man she adored, but at the same time felt like garbage to be around. And now this... She still had not done what was needed to be sure, but in her heart she was certain. She had no serious doubts when it had happened: the day, a month ago, when she had given herself to him just to get him to talk to her afterward. And by then, they were no longer just a couple...

But why should even that bind her? She jerked the ring off, hissing and smiling at the sensation, held it out over the toilet bowl and her latest mess. She had thought about it, exactly once, the night she gave herself to the man she already considered her husband. She had considered, just to amuse herself, what it would be like for Columbus to wake up with only Tal in the house, the SUV and their supplies gone, and the wretched ring on his... And then she realized she _had_ taken the ring off, and she was rummaging in Columbus's cast-off pants. And that was when she knew she could never take it off.

She sighed and started to close her fingers around the ring. But her hand twitched, and the ring dropped from her grasp. She sighed again, now in aggravation. She removed her jacket, and started to unbutton her shirt. "You better let me do that," said Little Rock behind her. She gasped and turned. Her sister was already in full makeup. "I can do it, and say it's to be authentic." Wichita stepped aside and let her sister go to work. "And I know you haven't told him yet."

"He _already_ knows! Hell, Tal knows!"

"Lots of people know, but Columbus doesn't. You know how I know?" Little Rock held up the ring and smirked. "Because when he finds out, he's going to die."


	13. Most Wanted

A shadowy, pale shape stalked through the house. Under a coffee table, a zombie curled in a fetal position stirred. A bathroom door opened, letting in just enough light to show a dark shape in the bathtub.

A few minutes later, the shape reached the laundry room. "We have a pack: five, one in the living room, one in the bathroom, three in the bedroom," Columbus whispered. "No structural damage in evidence. If you move in the front, I'll cover the back." As he cut the transmission short, something hit the back of his knees. He bit back a cry. There was no question what was happening: A zombie was trying to climb out of the dryer. He shoved the door shut and started to reach for a concealed "hush puppy" .38 revolver. Then he made out the dryer controls, turned a knob and after a few experimental pushes started the washer. A thumping and a muffled scream came from within. He backed away from the machine, and started to relax when the door remained shut. Then he glimpsed a figure sidling toward him through the narrow kitchen. It had some kind of hat pulled over its eyes, which should have flared red in the few rays of sunlight. He tried to draw the gun, but the silencer complicated the procedure. By the time he drew, the figure was already- _gone_.

He blinked in surprise. Zombies virtually never ran. Or was it a zombie? He winced as sunlight poured in with the breaching of the front door, and shots rang through the house. He had insisted on small-caliber weapons, mainly .32 pistol and .22 Long rifle rounds, but the sound was still painful to his ears. The continued thumping from the dryer did not help. He darted forward, ready for an attack from either side, but all he got was a glimpse of a pallid figure in a checkered flat cap lunging for a rear window. He ran after, and saw bushes rustling just outside the broken window. With uncharacteristic eagerness, he raised the revolver and leaned forward, taking aim at a scuttling shape. Then three bullets hit him in the back.

He murmured "Krista" as he awoke, only to see the thin face and brown eyes of Melissa Strangelove, who was crouching beside him. Like all members of the party, she wore a garbage bag slicker. (Columbus had talked them out of using commercial rain coats by demonstrating how much water could flow through nylon fabric.) She smiled. "Good thing we put some kevlar under your shirt," she said. Taking his hand, she helped him to his feet. "Better go to Wichita." His wife could be heard shouting and hitting a deputy over the head with the butt of a Skorpion.

"Wichita!" he shouted, "I'm okay!" His wife was down a passage, in the bedroom. He had barely started toward her when she reached him, almost knocking him down as she kissed and embraced him.

"Better, uh, take it easy on the makeup," he added.

She pulled back and ran her fingers through his hair. "You are so getting lucky tonight," she said.

"I already am," he said with a smirk. Behind him, a male throat was loudly cleared.

"While we're all relieved Chief Health is all right," said Chief Sahara, "you are still both on duty. And what happened?"

Columbus gently but quickly extricated himself, turned and said, "A zombie followed me to the back door. Then when I drew my gun, he ran for the window." The chief's expression hardened. "I know how it sounds, but that's what happened!"

"Did this zombie," Chief Sahara said coldly, "have a floppy cap on?"

"Yes!" Columbus said. The Chief's frown suddenly became a smile.

"Listen up, boys!" Sahara called out. "Our boy here just scared off Andy Capp!" The deputies all cheered, even the one still reeling from Wichita's pummeling.

"We keep a semiofficial list of `named' zombies," the Chief explained. "They're the ones sighted multiple times without being taken. There's a second list of `Ten Most Wanted', the ones that keep getting away: Jack Ketch... The White Whale... Mons Meg... Mr. McGoo... Chuckie Cheesehead... Floozie Q... Little Anthony... Elvira... The King... And none of them has been on it longer, sighted more often than Andy Capp. His trademark is that he leaves just ahead of hunting parties. Three different guys in my patrol alone have seen him jogging away with that damn cap on, but couldn't take a shot without blowing the operation. But you got between him and the _back_ door!" There was another cheer.

Then someone called out: "Hey, we just turned the dryer off... It's hard to tell for sure, but it looks like Little Anthony's inside!" More cheers erupted, and Columbus was assailed with pats on the back. Wichita pushed the deputies aside and threw her arms around him, while Strangelove rolled film.

All told, Columbus's party cleared twelve houses and killed thirty zombies before dusk, and a second party accompanied by Little Rock cleared seven houses and killed fifty zombies. On their return, the CEO announced that, in reward for their work, Columbus, Wichita, Tal and Little Rock could have one of the newly cleared houses.

"Listen," Columbus said when he and his wife returned to their room, "I asked room service to bring up something for us to celebrate..." He reached into the nightstand and lifted a wine bottle. "Vintage 1997." Wichita screeched and stormed out the door.


	14. Breaking up in Vegas

Wichita did not stay mad for long, which was how she and Columbus ended up with Little Rock, Tallahassee and the deputies in Mexitalia. Little Rock, still in her zombie makeup, tried to console Tallahassee, who was upset that he had only made 3 of the day's zombie kills, while at the same time modestly reciprocating a 14-year-old volunteer's efforts to flirt with her. Wichita acted with just the right combination of happy and unpredictable to suggest that she was drunk or otherwise under the influence, though she assuredly was not. Columbus shyly accepted praise. Then, somehow, his wife found her way to the microphone.

"I'd like to tell you a little about my husband," she said. Columbus hunched his shoulders. "When you meet him, the first thing you're likely to think is, `Get some sun!' The next thing you think is, `He has the guts of a guppy.' But if you get to know him, you realize something: Courage isn't about how often you're afraid. It's about how often you let your fears stop you from doing what you want to do and need to do. And once you think about it that way, you realize: `This is the bravest man I have ever met.' "

The deputies gave a modest cheer. She then leaned forward and spoke directly to her husband, who looked increasingly like an agoraphobic turtle: "Columbus, the minute I realized that was when I knew I love you. Every day I wake up beside you, my first thought is, I'm the luckiest woman alive to be with you." He raised his head and managed a smile. "And... I'm proud to say.. I'm having your baby."

There was a moment of silence, then a rising chorus of cheers, whistles, whoops and risquee jokes. Columbus looked to be still smiling, but on close examination his expression was more like a grimace of terror. He was almost catatonic in the face of well-wishers surrounding him, even (if not especially) when Tal pulled him to his feet, hugged him, pounded his back and kissed him on each cheek for good measure. "Yup, she killed him," Little Rock said to no one in particular.

Columbus politely extricated himself, and Wichita followed, and those who did not see the anxious expression on Wichita's face smirked or even whooped aloud, anticipating a lovers' rendesvous. They were not wrong, but it was Wichita's turn to look terrified as her husband climbed onto her. He looked angry and possibly sorrowful as he started, and still had much the same expression when he started, while she continued to stare in anxiety. She started to ease up when he rested a hand on her lower abdomen. "I'm sorry," she said.

"I don't want you to apologize, I want you to explain to me," Columbus said. "When?"

"Last month- I mean, a month ago exactly."

He nodded. "We talked about this, even before the first time. We agreed we weren't ready. You said you would take care of things. Did you-?" She hid her face in her hands. He firmly took hold of hre chin and raised her eyes to meet his. "Why? Just tell me why."

She wiped a tear from her eye. "I didn't decide to, I just- I think, a lot, about having a family, and the more I was thinking about it, the more I worried, how much time do we even have? What if it's already too late. And one day I hesitated, and a few days later, I waited, then a few days after that- Please. Oh, God, please, I'll do anything, let you do anything, just don't-" He cut her short with a gentle kiss. Then, with the same firm hands (she wondered how she had ever thought of him as weak), he took her hands. She cried and pleaded but offered no resistance as he pulled off her ring. He kissed her again. Then, without her knowing where it had come from, he slipped another on her finger. He raised her hand to kiss it, and give her a good look at a brilliant white opal.

He smiled, wiped tears from his eyes, and then said swore without anger and said, "What else would I do? You're having our baby!" Then they held each other and cried until they laughed.

Not much later, there was an urgent pounding on the door. They had just enough time to put on a minimum of covering before Little Rock barged in. "It's Tal!" she said. "He's gone."

Soon enough, it was confirmed. "He used the celebration as a bit of a diversion," Strangelove explained as she showed Columbus the security footage. "Hard to say if he was planning it, or just couldn't resist an opportunity. You can see him go, follow him out to the parking lot, but he never comes back."

Columbus jumped at the touch of his wife's hand. "Have either of you seen Little Rock?" she said anxiously.

As Sahara's night patrol passed, a dark SUV pulled out of a side street and cruised west. A small light went on as Tal examined the hand-drawn lines and dots on Branson Missouri's map. Slowly, a small, dark-clothed figure with a pale face sat up in the back seat.

The cry of surprise would have been audible even outside the SUV, even over the squeal of brakes.

"Going somewhere without me?" Little Rock said.

**This one has been getting long, and not going how I planned, so I decided to move on to a new "episode". Plus, I couldn't resist a terrible pun...**

**To be continued in... _Breaking Up in Vegas!_**


	15. Couples' Interlude

Columbus and Wichita nestled together in the bedroom of their new house. "I miss Little Rock," Wichita said.

"I miss her too," said Columbus.

"I miss Tal..."

"For * sake," said Columbus. He waved his hand while sorting out what he wanted to say. "We love each other. We're preggo. We should be either ecstatically happy or scared out of our minds... So why do we keep talking about them."

There was a long, awkward silence, then Wichita said: "Maybe we should... not be together."

Columbus sat bolt upright. "_Krista_... I told you, before I proposed to you... I believe, when two people have been together, they should stay together. I've been with you, and I don't need this"- he touched her midriff- "to stay, whatever it takes."

She pressed the heel of her hand into his shoulder until he sank down a few inches. " _Austin, _I'm not talking about a _divorce_," she said. "I'm not even talking about not sleeping together." He met her eyes thoughtfully. "I'm just saying, maybe we should get out of each other's space a while."

"What, like, separated with benefits?"

"Pretty much... Well, I'm thinking, _we_ get the benefits when _I_ want to."

"I can live with that," Columbus said, brushing back her hair. "Do you... want to start tonight?"

"No, for tonight, I want you here."

"I miss Krista," Little Rock said. "And Columbus... and where are we going, anyway?"

"We're following their instructions," Tal said. "It looks like this is the last leg." They zigzagged their way down a road through the mountains of southeastern California.

"Why are you going? These are bad guys. They tried to kill you, and rape Wichita!"

"They're dangerous," Tal said, "but Zombieland's a dangerous place. They've stayed alive, all on their own. Do you think the people at Circus Circus could have done as well?"

"That's not it, and you know it," Little Rock snapped. "You're coming out here because you were getting bored at Circus Circus. Just admit it!"

"Well, I didn't make you come along!" Tal said.

"I didn't make you still come! Now just say it: You don't like killing zombies with people who tell you what to do!"

"Well- look, there's ways that are good for me, and there's ways that are good for them. If I don't fit in with them, maybe I should be somewhere else."

"And you think a biker gang might be it??"

"I'm just going to hear what Branson has to say! And who knows? He might have something to offer for Circus Circus. And- aye aye aye!" In the valley below, fifty tanks were parked.


	16. Stratosphere

At mid-morning, the '64 Jeep "Tremors Truck" pulled to a stop in front of the Stratosphere Tower. The tallest structure in Vegas, it stood more than a thousand feet high, with a projecting buttress on each corner. 3 people were in the cab: Columbus in the driver's seat, his wife Wichita shotgun, and photographer Melissa Strangelove perched awkwardly between them. In the rear were four volunteer deputies, one of whom manned an M60 machine gun. "The first thing," Columbus said as they piled out, "is to confirm visual ID of the symbol." He slapped a piece of paper on the hood, and looked to a curve spray-painted fifty feet up a projecting buttress. He sketched it meticulously, then did the same for what looked like a lightning bolt on the narrow edge of the buttress. Then he ran toward the side of the tower, to see the other side of the buttress. Wichita ran after him, while waving for the others to stay put. By the time she caught up with him, he was sketching again. He mutely held up the paper. It showed a heart, split almost in two. Wichita reached just below her neckline and raised a necklace whose only ornament was a heart, carved from a single large ruby, and cleft by a vein of gold.

"So what's the deal?" said the youngest of the deputies as they returned. A boy of only 14, he went by the name Nogales. "This is way ahead of any `sweep' they have planned."

"It's an exploratory operation," Columbus said. He unfolded his current weapon, a .22/.410 M6 rifle. "I have reason to believe a resource of value is in that tower, and I have the authority to investigate it on my own initiative. Now, I want two of you to come with us, and two of you to stay with the truck."

"I want to come in," Nogales said immediately.

"Fine," Wichita said. A deputy calling himself Detroit also volunteered.

Only the top and bottom of the tower, shaped like a cylinder and a truncated cone respectively, consisted of actual levels and rooms. The rest consisted of buttresses and an elevator shaft. The lights were on, and music and other noise could be heard within the building. As they approached the entrance, a pair of sliding doors open. Within, a zombie came charging, and everyone stepped to left or right. Just as the zombie reached the entrance, the doors shut in its face, and it fell stunned. The party stared curiously for a few moments, then went into action. Columbus approached the doors, which slid open. Detroit grabbed the semiconscious zombie by its ankles and dragged it outside. Columbus pulled a plastic bag over its head. Wichita fired a single shot to the head with a silenced Skorpion machine pistol. The .32 round did not exit, and what blood came from the single entry wound was mostly trapped by the bag. The technique had been developed based on the understanding that the strongest single attractor for zombies was the blood of their own.

Wichita lifted her eyes to meet her husband's stare. "What?"

"Nothing... just... you always look intense when you take a zombie out."

"Yeah, but don't get lovey-dovey on me, okay?"

As they stepped inside, a dormant zombie sat up. Wichita and Detroit bagged and dispatched before it could get up. Strangelove wordlessly signaled Columbus, and he turned to see another zombie wandering over, looking more curious than aggressive. He shot it in the head with the smaller barrel of his gun. A suppressor took care of the bang from the meek rimfire cartridge, but there was still a very audible crack from the supersonic passage of the bullet itself. The zombie fell facedown without a cry, and Nogales bagged it in seconds. But, between the sound of the shot and a modest pool of blood, it seemed that more than enough damage had been done. They fell back, ready for a charge, but none came. Then they realized what noises they were hearing...

They moved forward, swiftly but silently. They beheld a central open area, where passengers boarded the double-decker elevator, and a modest casino area had been set up. The area was filled with at least thirty zombies, all huddled around the video gaming machines, either playing or watching the screens. The nearest one stood by a vintage quarter slot machine with its cash box smashed open. The zombie put a quarter in, pulled the arm, grunted in displeasure when it came up lemons, then pulled the quarter out of the opened box to play again. "Type 2s," Wichita said. The zombie hit a jackpot; the machine erupted with lights and noise, but there was only an empty clicking from the coin dispenser. "After a while, they get dumb, well, dumb_er_, and they don't attack people."

"Not quite," Columbus said. "Even 2s get aggressive when they're starving. These aren't starving, or even hungry. You can tell from how they act, and from how they look. So what have they been eating?"

"Don't they eat each other when they don't have anything else?" Nogales said.

Detroit shook his head. "Sure, but when things get that bad, even the ones that do the eating look like hell, and they are _mean_. I've seen it... When they cleared the Riviera hotel-casino, they just blocked the doors and let them starve. We finally went in after six weeks. A hundred were still alive, they lookd like skin and bone but they came straight for us. These are nowhere near that bad. And there's another thing: Type 2s don't forage effectively, even when there's food to be found. They've starved to death in _grocery stores_, for chrissake. So why aren't they starving?"

"`When you remove the impossible,'" Columbus murmured, "`whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth.'" He met the strange looks of the others. "Sherlock Holmes. It's simple. These zombies are alive, and healthy, because someone has been feeding them."


	17. Branson

**While I was writing Branson's dialogue here, I stopped for a good laugh. I have been struck by how my villains tend to be more "normal" than anyone else, and I believe this may have reached _reductio ad absurdum_ with him.**

**Also, the "Thing" (officially known as ONTOS) actually exists, and gets my vote for ultimate anti-zombie weapon.**

"`Barbarism is the natural state of mankind," muttered Branson Missouri.

"What?" said Enid Oklahoma, his second-in-command.

"Nothing," said Branson. He put away a Robert E. Howard collection. "Is he here?"

Not yet," Enid said grudgingly.

"I knew he would come," Branson said. "We did not spend long with him, but it was enough time for me to understand him."

"He's not alone," Enid said with a hint of smugness.

Branson stiffened. "Is there another car?"

"No, someone in the car, a girl. I think the one who got Nails."

Branson smiled again, almost but not quite smirking. "Yes, it's her. I expect she came over his objection. Nothing to worry about. But keep an eye on Nails. We don't want to upset Tallahassee."

"Why do we want him? He couldn't take a shot at us. We'd've done better with Curly. He came at me like a pro."

"He isn't the kind who would join us. Tallahassee is. Now, let's go meet our guests."

As Tal slowly opened the door, Branson waved. "Hello, Florida," he said. "I'm glad to meet under more pleasant circumstances."

Little Rock jumped out and shouted, "Drop dead, pervert!"

The chief smiled. "And Little Rock, spunky as ever. But let's here from your uncle Tal. Are you here on your own, or as a representative of Circus Circus?"

"I left on my own," Tal said. "She stowed away, and I let her come all the way. Nobody at Circus Circus knows."

"Good," said Branson On either side of him, bikers raised guns. "Unfortunately, I'm going to have to ask you to leave any and all weapons in your vehicle." Three people rushed in and frisked Tal, taking his mare's leg, a shotgun, a pair of .45s and a derringer. Another three were rather more apprehensive approaching Little Rock. She swore at them, then opened her jacket to show a holstered PPK, which she tossed inside. "Very good, and I'm genuinely sorry, but I'm sure neither of us wants to do anything we'd regret. If it helps, I will give my gun to Enid." He handed over a revolver.

"It doesn't," said Little Rock, "especially when I can see the pistol in your ankle holster."

The Chief shrugged. "Well, it wouldn't look very good to my men if I were to hand over all my leverage, would it? Now, let's go sit down..."

"Whatever you have to say, you can say it out here," said Tal. "And if there's anything I think Circus Circus needs to know about, I'll tell it to them when I get back."

"Exactly what I would have wished," Branson said. "And, I'll send for chairs."

His men brought out folding chairs, and all three took their seats. Then Branson spoke, exactly as if he were making a business pitch: "Now, I am sure that you are fearful of us. You think we are barbarians. But there has always been a fine line between barbarian and business man. In the last days of Rome, the same `barbarian' tribes blamed for overthrowing the empire were also the backbone of the empire's own armies. The Vikings were traders and explorers, as well as raiders. Even the Mongols ran a good postal system. The key is that the barbarians should have a mechanism for using their strengths constructively. Now, we are in the midst of a greater fall than Rome. The men I lead could drive through what remains of civilization and destroy it even more completely. Without my guidance, they might have done that already. But that's not what I want.

"Let's look at it this way. The men at the casinos have their buildings, latter-day castles, and their own ability to lead. Given time, they could form their own nation. But they can't do it alone, and they certainly can't do it from inside the walls of their buildings. That's where they need what we have: Mobility, long-distance communication, information on distant places, weapons and people who can use them."

Tal's jaw drooped as he mouthed words silently, somewhat like a cow chewing cud. "Wait... You're saying you want to _help_ the casinos?"

Little Rock sneered and rolled her eyes. "No, he's saying he wants the casinos to pay him protection money."

"Names, names," said Branson in bemusement. "If a man with a gun asks for money in return for keeping people out of your house, you call him a police officer. If a man with a gun asks for money in return for keeping people on the other side of your border, you call him a soldier. But if a man with a gun asks for money in return for not burning your house down, you call him a gangster... Of course, things being what they are, I'd prefer something more negotiable than cash."

Tallahassee looked to the tanks. "So what do you have those tanks for?"

"Ah, I suppose those are make the wrong impression," Branson said with a sigh. "This land was a US Navy and Air Force bombing range. This spot in particular- we call it Camp Swampy- is where they stored vehicles they used for _target practice_." He pointed to the nearest seven vehicles: an M60 tank, a vehicle built on the same hull but with a crane in place of a turret, two huge trucks to pull the tanks, two ancient APC and a bizarre little tracked vehicle with four cannons mounted outside the hull. "We looked at over 200 vehicles. _Those_ are the ones that run reliably and can be maintained. The rest are the ones that didn't even work long enough to drive off base. The tank is hardly worth the trouble. Do you have any idea how much gas a tank needs? Never mind skilled labor and spare parts. The ARV, that one with the crane, does more good, clearing roads, you know. The APCs work well enough, but where can they go that motorcycles can't? That thing- apparently it's called the Thing- is the one that's really handy. It can pull plenty of weight, but still get in tight spaces. Plus, those guns- we found flechette ammunition for them." He grinned ghoulishly. "The only time we fired them was when we had a horde of zombies- a thousand at least- headed for one of our base camps. We fired all the guns, once. That's 9,500 flechettes, per canister, times six- oh, and they're incendiary. Once was all it took. How's that for zombie kill of the week?" He chuckled, and Tallahassee whistled and laughed along with him.

Tal met Little Rock's disapproving gaze, and guiltily sat up and resumed a serious expression. "If we're gonna talk about protection, we only gain if there's something you can protect us from. Is there...?"

Branson's expression grew even more stern. "We might," he said succinctly. He reached into his jacket and handed Tallahassee a large photo print. Tallahassee took it, only let it drop to the dirt when he looked.

Little Rock leaned down to examine it. At first, she could not make out anything in the grainy, black-and-white print. Then, looking closer, she saw that it was something like a photo of a fire and mound. Then she worked out its proportions, and gasped.

The "mound" was a mountain. The "ants" were tens of thousands of zombies.


	18. Jack Ketch

**This chapter refers directly to events of "Shoe Shopping" and "Trip to Vegas". I drafted it before the preceding chapters, with Little Rock in the role Nogales plays now. Also, I haven't made it explicit, but Nogales is a boy who hit on Little rock back in chapter 14. **

Columbus led the way up the escalator, toward the upper door of the elevator. "There's a camera," he said, pointing above the elevator. "Let me have the necklace."

Behind him, Wichita removed the necklace and gave it to him. He held it up before the camera, then handed it back. A few second later, the elevator door opened. He turned back and said, "I'm not asking anyone to come with me, and I'm not telling anyone to stay." Strangelove followed him immediately. His wife sighed softly before going herself.

"Are you crazy?" Nogales said. There could be little doubt he spoke mainly to Wichita, on behalf of her absent little sister. "You said somebody up there is feeding zombies! Does that sound like someone you want to meet?!"

"I'm staying to cover the stairs," said Detroit. "If you're going, go!" Wichita thrust out her gun to keep the door open, just before Nogales came barging up the stairs. The doors shut. Then the elevator started abruptly and shot upward very fast. Strangelove clasped Columbus's shoulder. Wichita bent over and wretched. He cringed back, then reached out dutifully to pull back his wife's hair, but couldn't quite reach, and declined to get any closer. Then, after less than a minute, the elevator stopped and the doors opened. Nogales was first out the door, and Strangelove followed. Columbus lingered, watching his wife. She sat up, and almost primly wiped her mouth and pulled back her hair. He started to whisper, "Wichita, I l-" She raised her finger to her lips, then hurried out of the elevator.

They were in a restaurant in the conical spire, which had the elevator shaft in the center and forward-sloping windows all around the edge. One of the windows was broken, and a cold breeze was blowing in. In every direction, Vegas spread out below them. Columbus turned away, fighting vertigo, but the ethereal sound of the wind was almost as unnerving as the view. He felt a hand pat him on the back. He turned, expecting to see his wife, but it was Strangelove. "Hang in there," she said, "and try looking out into the distance." He tried it, and it helped. Then he yelped in surprise as his wife brushed past behind him. He looked over his shoulder guiltily. Wichita looked over her shoulder, smiled and winked. He looked back out into the distance, now feeling about as frightened of his domestic situation as he was of the height.

He heard a kind of rustle, much softer than the wind, and whirled around with his gun raised. He zeroed in on a target immediately, but it took him a moment to piece together where the shadows ended and the figure began. Behind the bar, a man stepped forward with a chuckle. "Yeah, okay, you got me," he said, with a noticeable English accent. His clothing, including a T-shirt with the Union Jack, was ragged, worn and faded, and his face was pale and lesioned. Nogales darted to Columbus's side with gun raised, but lowered it after a moment's examination.

"I get it," Nogales said. "You're one of the scientists studying the zombies, right? An' I suppose the makeup is so you can get close to them. Good idea. Make-up could be better, though."

The newcomer chuckled again. "Kid... This ain't make-up."

Nogales literally jumped, raising his gun again. Columbus reached out and threw the safety. "What are you doin', man?" Nogales said. "He's a daywalker!" Then he looked closer, particularly at the shirt, and said, "_Al infierno!_ That- that's Jack Ketch!"

Ketch curtsied. "Guilty as charged," he said.

Columbus nodded. "Where I started from, they called you lepers. I thought there might be some of you here. I mapped all the sightings, and identified this spot as the epicenter," he said. "You should probably move out soon. Sooner or later, a hunting party is going to trace you the same way."

Ketch shrugged. "Eh. It's home. An' they won't exactly storm up the stairs, will they?"

As the women came up on either side, Nogales grabbed Columbus's shoulder and shook. "Listen to me! Haven't you heard what they say about daywalkers?"

Ketch grinned. "What do they say? I don't get to talk to many people up here."

"The daywalkers eat the zombies and us! They'll talk to you, and act nice, but then when you relax, they kill you!"

"Now you wound me to the heart!" Ketch said, shaking a fist melodramatically in the air and clutching his chest with the other. "Why would I eat human when I've got 30 zombies in the feeding pen alone? And, by the way, you all taste the same to us. And if I was going to eat human, why would I eat any of _you_? Him, I could make a better meal out of his bones than I could get off 'em. Mrs. Ohio, I'd save until she put some more pregnancy pounds on- and by the way, congratulations. Ms. Strangelove would make a nice dish, but she's not gonna get me through winter. An' you, even for a 13-year-old boy, you look like someone ran over your can with a dump truck!"

"I'm 14 and 9 months, bloodsucker!" shouted Nogales. "And if you try taking a bite out of Wichita, I'll-" Columbus pulled the boy back.

"Stop it!" he shouted to Jack. To the boy, he said, "He's being a jerk, no more, no less. But you provoked him. Don't say anything stupid, don't act afraid or disgusted, and he will leave you alone."

"Sorry," said Jack. "Like I said, I don't get much company up here. It's easy to forget good manners. Here, sit down. I can get you a beer if you like." Columbus shook his head. "I'd offer you something to eat, but, well-" Columbus glared. "Sorry. Ah, and Ms. Strangelove, please turn the camera off, or at least turn off the audio. Thank you."

"Do you know who I am?" Columbus said. He had taken a seat, and the women were on either side of him. Nogales insisted on standing.

"Yes," said Ketch. "We know your true name, and any brother or sister could tell of your deeds. You slew a pack in the dark. You escaped a swarm in a mall. You fought another swarm, and killed a giant among them with two blows, to save the woman you love. For the same woman, you stabbed a biker and defeated their chief with your bare hands. And you saved the Sybil's daughter."

"So... I'm a legend?" Columbus said, hunching his shoulders.

"'Fraid so, kid."

"And... It was Sybil's daughter I saved? She never said anything about that."

"_The_ Sybil. And it was her adopted daughter, now the Sybil herself."

Columbus glanced at his wife. "Then... How did you know she was, uh, pregnant?"

Jack Ketch looked from him, to her, and back again. Columbus hunched his shoulders; Wichita hid her face. "Good God," said the leper, "you _just_ found out??!!"


	19. Lepers

_(Voice of Columbus)_

Victims of Type 4 infections, or lepers, suffer the same skin disorder as the zombies, but remain intelligent and sane, at least by comparison. _(Leper shouts bizarre "sermon" to department store manikins.) _They are able to move unmolested among the zombies, and even consume them for food. Unfortunately, they were not so lucky among "normal" humans. Some were mistaken for zombies. _(Leper is shot while looking out window.)_ Others were recognized but still targeted by the authorities, because they are still capable of spreading the virus. _(_Federales _in hazmat suits shoot lepers as they line up to board a bus.) _ Still others became victims of prejudices and superstitions which evolved in the chaos of the Pandemic. _(A man burns a cigarette out on a leper's arm, shouting, _"Donde esta su oro_?")_

The lepers adapted by rapidly developing their own culture, particularly a system of signs and symbols for communicating discretely with each other. _(A leper sees one half of the "broken heart" symbol, paints the other half and walks away. Minutes later, he comes back to find a door open.)_ They developed tactics for hunting zombies without fire arms and often without the shedding of blood. _(Zombie, attracted by hanging severed leg, is snared and strangled with a noose.) _They also have a strong sense of spirituality _(lepers pray over dismembered zombie)_ which includes a commitment to the long-term survival of "normal" humans. All staff and citizens are strongly urged to leave lepers unmolested, and if possible to cultivate mutually beneficial relationships with them.

***

"So," Wichita said, somewhat nervously, "are you all by yourself?"

"There are a few others in the tower," Jack Ketch said. "You won't be meeting them."

"How many of you are there in the city?" Columbus asked, in a quiet but intensely concerned tone.

"All told, 'bout 40 that I know about," said Ketch. "There could be more, and there _were_ more once. And understand, we aren't in close contact with each other. Most of the time, we spread ourselves out and stay out of each other's way. If there's something we need or something we need to know from each other, we have ways to get it without even seeing each other."

"Can you tell us where the other lepers are, so we can move around them during sweeps?"

Ketch shook his head. "We don't work that way. We have territories, not homes. Even I move back and forth between several locations."

Columbus proffered a piece of paper. "Then they can move around us. Here's a list of all the planned sweeps in the next month. If you know a leper in the way, warn him."

"That I can do," said Ketch. "We don't have any problem avoiding your hunting parties anyway. I let them see me to lead them away from places I prefer be left alone, and to give 'em something to talk about."

"You certainly did that," Columbus said. He told him about the "most wanted" list. "I wondered about whether some of them were lepers. You seemed to fit the bill. There's another I saw myself, last week..."

"Andy Capp," said Ketch. "No, he's not one of ours. Never was. There's talk you caught up to him inside."

"He got between Capp and the back door," said Strangelove.

"Damn. If you're trying to live down your legend, you aren't making it easy for yourself."

"All I did was walk through a house," Columbus said. "I wasn't trying to trap a legendary zombie."

"That makes it all the more remarkable," Ketch said. "So, Columbus, what else are you here for?"

"I need help with reconnaissance," Columbus said. "So far I've managed to put on a good show, but I'm nowhere near good enough."

"Seeing as you're already good enough to impress us, I must say I find that hard to believe," said Ketch. "But I will spread the word you would like our help. If any of us knows something especially important, it will be passed on to you. Is there anything more?"

"We need medical supplies," Columbus said. "The main objective of our next round of sweeps is to reach Sunrise Hospital to get them."

"_That_... is a fantastically bad idea," said Ketch. "But, I expect you know that."

"Have you been there?" Columbus said anxiously.

"Yes. It's intact, and anything you might need is still there, but it is too dangerous."

"What is it? Zombies? Industrial hazards? Unstable structures?"

"All of the above, to some extent," said Ketch. "But that is not the worst."

Something dawned on Columbus: "You said Capp _`never was'_ one of yours."

"'Atta boy." Ketch sighed. "Something you have to learn: Just because a story is horrible, and defamatory, doesn't mean it doesn't have quite a bit of truth. We lepers have the same urges the zombies do. The difference between us and them is that we can choose whether to follow them. Not all of us- maybe not even most- say no. We call them the Apostates.

"When one of us goes bad, it can happen two ways. Most fall in with a zombie pack or swarm and go native. Usually they do such a good job fitting in that they end up as vicious and mindless as the zombies. A couple on your list- Mr. Magoo and Chucky Cheesehead- went like that. The other way is that they get violent, delusional- and _paranoid_. They are the Pariahs. A Pariah will kill anything, for any reason or none: human, zombie, leper, or each other. The only limiting factor on their violence is a desire not to be seen. None of them is going to be on that list, because you will _never_ see them. Well... _You_ might, but your colleagues won't stand a chance."

"So, there's one in the area?"

"There's _three_. Usually, of course, they don't go anywhere near each other, at least not if both of them stay alive for long. But these are exceptions to prove the rule: Two twin brothers, we call Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum, and a girl they share between them, we call Alice. Their territory goes from Desert Inn to Flamingo and Eastern to Maryland, but they treat anyone south of Karen or east of Cambridge as intruders. I've been to the hospital three times. The second time, Tweedle Dee took a warning shot at me. Prob'ly Dum, he's the easy-going one. The third time, Alice gave me this." He tugged at the collar of his shirt to show a scar. "She was shooting to wound, to give the brothers a little sport. But I outran them. If I go back, I don't expect to be that lucky again. So, what can you tell them?"

"Three weeks ago, Sahara Casino lost an entire patrol trying to get to the hospital from the north," Columbus said. "I can strongly suggest we perform sweeps of the Candlelight Chapel and Desert Inn, but hold off operations further east. I can offer as an alternative using one of our helicopters to reach the hospital, and enter from the roof."

Ketch nodded. "It's as good a plan as you're going to get, and there's no reason it couldn't work. Just be careful, and hope you have a *load of luck."


	20. Horde

_(Voice of Wichita)_

Zombies are attracted to each other, even more than to uninfected humans. So, they instinctively form groups _(one zombie falls in behind another, and a third follows)_, and larger groups attract new members faster _(six zombies are joined by three more)_. These groups act like schools of fish: They don't have leaders, or any other kind of organization, but they instinctively move in ways that improve their chances of success and survival. _(Large zombie group chases soldiers through cloverleaf intersection; smaller group breaks off main street and circles to cut off soldiers.)_ As more zombies get together, their long-term survival rate improves, sometimes by a factor of three or more, possibly because of better nutrition _(nine zombies eat one)_ and the imitation of Type 3 behaviors by lower-functioning zombies. _(One zombie pounds a door with a brick; others slowly pick up bricks and join in.)_

Two terms are in use for zombie groups. A pack consists of five to twenty-five zombies. Once they gather, they become a permanent group, hunting _(zombies forage in grocery store) _and nesting together. _(Same zombies sleep in store room.)_ A swarm consists of thirty to several hundred zombies. _(Wichita and Little Rock fire on zombie crowd from tower.)_ No group larger then 500 to 600 has ever been confirmed, except in the early stages of urban outbreaks. _(1,000+ zombies charge through Las Vegas.)_ There are two theories about how swarms form. Most researchers believe swarms form spontaneously from individual packs when they encounter a food source or other attraction _(packs move toward lights of Pacific Playland)_ and break up just as quickly when the attraction is gone. _(Lights go off, and zombies turn around.)_ But, another theory says that the swarms stay together, but spread out enough that no one sees them until they converge on a food source. It's speculated that swarms could grow bigger and bigger _(Wichita rubs her stomach as she speaks)_ into groups of thousands or even tens of thousands. _(A column of zombies miles long marches out of Los Angeles.)_ This is called a "mega-swarm", or _horde._

***

"The photo I showed you was taken 4 months ago, by the Air Force, outside Silicon Valley," said Branson. "The report it was in said that the _horde_- that was the word they used- numbered at least 200,000. That's five times the number of people who were in Tiananmen Square when the tanks rolled in. It seems to have formed when swarms from San Francisco and Oakland merged together, and then gotten even bigger as they went through San Jose. By the time they reached Sacramento, there were over half a million. Immediately before the report was written, that's 3 months ago, the USAF tried to destroy them by firebombing. They estimated over 200 thousand survived. Apparently, they were too spread out for bombing to be effective. Then the base where we found it was... `ordered evacuated for Operation Firebreak.'" He shrugged.

"The horde kept going south, far enough to start drawing swarms in from the LA metropolitan area.

The last official estimate we know of was over a million of them. Then they went east north and east, over mountains and into the desert. Even for zombies, that makes no sense. The mountains kill thousands of them, the desert kills thousands _per day_. But they keep coming, and there's still a steady stream of new swarms following them. For the last 14 weeks, we've been watching them, from the roads from observation posts in the mountains, and a few aircraft of our own. The horde can't be tracked: It expands and contracts too much with the terrain, its movements are unpredictable, and it's just too damn _big_. But, I found a few scientists to crunch the data. They believe the numbers have stabilized at around 300 thousand. They also showed that the horde is moving with weather patterns, which means that the movement of the horde as a whole can be modeled, as a matter of statistical probability.

"Bottom line: In two and a half months, maybe 3 or 4, a quarter million more zombies hit Vegas."

"Damn," said Tallahassee.

"It won't really help, but I think I have an idea why the zombies are moving," said Little Rock. "They're acting like lemmings. Columbus told me about them. Lots of people think they kill themselves by walking into the ocean. But they're really just trying to migrate. They can breed really quickly, and sometimes, like when there's more food or fewer predators, there get to be too many of them to survive. So, they migrate, and they keep going no matter what. Lots of them get eaten by predators, and some of them go into the ocean and keep swimming until they drown. But some of them find places where there's food and plenty of space, and they start breeding all over again."

Branson nodded. "It makes sense. But no, it doesn't help."

"Can you help?" said Tal.

"We can try," said Branson with a smile, "for the right price."


	21. Family Man

Strangelove stood up to photograph the city. Wichita got off her seat to rub her husband's back. "I always thought my man was good, but I had no idea there were legends about him," she said. She kissed the back of Columbus's neck and continued: "You seem so much sexier. I wish you'd told me sooner..."

Columbus coughed. "Uh-mm... Maybe that isn't what we needed..."

His wife wrapped her arms around him and sank her chin into his curls. "You have to tell me, Jack, how did you know? I mean, I'm at 6 weeks, and I know I put on a couple pants sizes already, but it's not actually showing- is it?"

Ketch turned an eye slyly. "Well, it would be easy enough to tell from how you look... You act like a lady with things on her mind, and there's an awful short list of the obvious possibilities." Wichita nodded and gave her husband a poke. "But really... and please, I mean no offense..." Ketch tapped his nose. "It's the smells. Hormones, pheromones, what have you. It's not _bad_, mind you, but- _strong._ Stronger'n _zombie_ scent. If smells were light, they'd be neon signs, and you'd be the bloody Luxor light."

She smiled and touched one hand to her midriff. "Actually, that sounds sweet."

Columbus leaned in, gently distancing himself from his wife. "What can you recommend for getting to the hospital?"

"Don't bloody go," said Ketch. "But since I expect you will, here's how to play it smart. First off, forget the zombie disguise. It doesn't really fool the zombies, and the Threesome will just get pissed off. Second, don't bring any firearms." He raised a hand to quell protests. " Two reasons: First, we can smell the propellants, and to a pariah it's like catnip laced with crack. Second, there's flammable stuff in the hospital, including a unit for hyperbaric treatments: That's concentrated, high-pressure oxygen. Fire a shot in there, you get a lot more than a bang. A crossbow will be good, or even a high-powered air rifle, but no gun powder.

"Third, go at the right time. The Threesome rotate. About the middle of the second week, Tweedle Dee will be watching the north. Go then and go fast, and he might let you get away with it. Last, and absolutely non-negotiable, you go together. Columbus, if you try to go alone, I will hunt you down and break your leg."

"We need to go," said Strangelove. "It's almost noon, and there's going to be a sweep this afternoon.

***

That evening, Columbus got out of the shower to find Wichita wearing only her underwear, examining herself in the mirror. He coughed. "Uh... you look nice."

"Really?" She pinched her midriff to show love handles. "I'm only 6 weeks along, and I've already got this. It's not even my uterus sticking out, just fat. At six months, I'm going to look like a hippo."

He pulled her to him and kissed her. "You will look beautiful."

"Yeah, you would think so, all you care about is the size of my-" He silenced her with another kiss.

"It might have happened sooner than we thought," he said. He had noticed a certain look on Jack Ketch's face during the conversation.

"No... I'm sure when it happened," she said, in a tone that belied her words.

"Krista, I-" She shushed him. "But, I-" She pushed a hand over his mouth.

"You can have me, but I don't want you to say it," she said. "Not right now."

Columbus sighed and followed her to the bedroom.

***

Jack Ketch stepped out of the elevator onto the lower observation deck. A small figure seemed to materialize from the shadows. "Hi, Daddy," she said. "Is dinner ready?"

"No, sweetie, it will be a little while yet," he answered. "How's mommy?"

"I think she was angry when the guests came," said the girl. "She tried to get out. I gave her food and a pill, but she bit me. Does that mean she was angry at me?"

"No, she was just... hungry."

"Would she eat me?"

"Nope," said Ketch. He picked up his daughter and nuzzled her while she giggled. "I'd eat you first!"

He set down the girl and approached the store room. "Honey?" he said, opening the door. There was a hiss within. A woman crawled up to him on hands and knees. He knelt, and she rested her head on his shoulder. He stroked her pale, lesioned face. She made a sound somewhat like purring. Then he reached out with his hand, and felt a stirring within her swollen belly.

The infected showed no interest in sex. But, some were already pregnant when infected. When they gave birth, babies were either eaten or abandoned. The lepers had established that the offspring were usually not infected. That had been sufficient reason to try to save them. So far, their efforts had been unsuccessful. But he was the only one to sequester a zombie successfully. He clasped his wife's hand. They had had four children together, before the plague. This one had been a surprise. Only one of their four previous children had shared his immunity to the virus. It was a chance...

"Daddy," said the girl, "is Baby Brother ready to come out?"

"Not yet," he said, "but soon."


	22. Nails

Tallahassee awoke to the sound of breaking glass. He and Little Rock had decided to stay a night in the bikers' camp rather than navigate the mountains in the dark. He sat up and reached for one of his .45s. Then there was a loud tapping. He turned to see a gun pointed right at him. In the back, Little Rock screeched, and fired a shot before being disarmed. A man laughed and said, "Don't worry about him. He can only kill zombies."

Little Rock winced at the glare of a small flashlight. As she managed to make out her attackers, she recognized them. These were the same group which had confronted them in a hardware store 3 months earlier. She thought of the man covering Tal as "Cash", because her sister had put him out of commission by fluke involving a shot to a cash register. The man holding onto her arm was one she thought of simply as "Helmet", because he wore a California Highway Patrol helmet that obviously was not his own. The third man had to be- "Nails".

"So, you don't always forget a face," he said. He pulled off his glove to show two scars. "You shot me 14 times with a nail gun. Now it's your turn to get nailed."

"Wait! Wait! Wait!" she said. "If you don't hurt me, I'll give you a good time. I can give you _all_ a good time!" She started to go into detail.

"Damn," said Helmet. "You are one dirty little skank." He grinned. "But you really aren't my type."

"What about you?" she said to Cash. He turned his head and started to speak, but didn't get a word out before he was struck by a golf club that crashed through the window. At almost the same moment, Little Rock fired the derringer, striking Nails in the inner thigh. He cried out and collapsed. "You want to nail somebody, you'll have to get a hammer!" she said.

Tal set down the club and snatched up the mare's leg. In the time that took, Helmet caught Little Rock in a choke hold and put a gun to her head. "I wasn't here, got it?" he said. Tal hesitated, his aim growing unsteady. Then he fired, once, and Helmet staggered back with a wound in his shoulder. Suddenly, more bikers appeared behind him, and Branson himself came marching forward.

Tal drew a bead on the chief. He waved his empty hands in a conciliatory gesture. "You misunderstand," he said. "I gave strict orders that you were to be left alone. Now, both of you set down your gun, raise your hands in the air and step out of your vehicle." Tal complied, and after a moment Little Rock followed suit. Enid and another biker marched Helmet forward. "Since these men disobeyed my orders, I will have to punish them."

He pointed to Cash. "Him, I will let go with a warning." He casually examined Nails. "I don't need to do anything to him, as that wound is going to kill him. That leaves him." He pointed to Helmet, then held out his gun to Tal. "Would you like to kill him?"

"Do your own dirty work," he said.

"I get it,"said Helmet. "That gun's not loaded, you just offered it to him as a te-" Branson shot him in the knee.

"How about you?" Branson offered the gun to Little Rock. "Kill him, please. Or at least finish off Nails. I wouldn't think you would have a problem with that, unless you want him to suffer." She seemed to think hard over it, then she shook her head. "Very well. You made your choice, now you will live with it." He shot Helmet twice in the face, and signaled his men to carry away Nails while he continued to bleed out.

"We're going, now," said Tal.

"I'm afraid not," Branson said. Tallahassee tensed. "I won't stop you. But ten thousand zombies marching up the road ought to be reason enough to reconsider."


	23. The Thing

As always with larger groups, the zombies did not approach in a single mass or from one direction, but as a diffuse cloud whose members followed any path of lesser resistance. The bulk of the megaswarm was still days away, but a group of over a thousand had found their way into a pass that went down to the base. "It's the perfect route for them," said a biker who was clearly ex-military. "The way they're concentrated, we can massacre them, but the dead will slide downhill and make the path smoother for the others. They might even pile up at the bottom and cause a breach in the fence."

"I think I know how we can stop 'em," said Tal. He pointed to the Thing. "All I want is to use, well, that Thing." The military man started to object, but Branson approved with a chuckle.

"I should warn you," the military man said, "this vehicle isn't anywhere near specs. Four spotting rifles were replaced with .50 M2s, a 7.62 MG was replaced with a 4cm auto grenade launcher... and all the seats were pulled out to make room for more ammunition. The original only had room for 18 shells, including ones loaded in the gun."

Tal gave him a funny look. "So what do we sit on?"

"The ammo."

Tal climbed into the turret, which was dwarfed by the weapons on either side. The military man (introduced as Duke) took hold of two improvised grips on the rear. "We need to wait for a driver," Duke said.

"Yo," Little Rock called from the driver's hatch. Duke cried out in surprise, then indignation, but she started before he could do anything more. She drove the short distance to the fence, and parked hull-down on the far side of the hill.

"Look here," Duke said breathlessly. "There's different controls for the guns on either side. These control the machine guns." Tal pulled both triggers and cut down a dozen zombies. "The Mgs don't work as well for accuracy as the spotting rifle, but for anti-personnel work it doesn't matter. The controls for the recoilless guns fire them one at a time, or three at once. The ones on the right are loaded with HE shells, for long-range fire, up to 2000 meters. The ones on the left are loaded with anti-personnel canisters- not the flechettes, but steel balls, about 4,000. They get more momentum, and better stopping power. Plus, they can bounce. They're good to 300 meters, maybe 400 or 500."

With the slightest twitch of his trigger fingers, Tal fired a volley of eight .50 rounds at a spot midslope where the zombies came back up from a dip in the terrain. Six zombies went sprawling, interrupting the flow of the procession. Then, just as the zombies were regaining their pace, he fired a single RCL shell. Backblast from the gun seared grass from the hillside. On the receiving end, one exceptionally hapless zombie was struck in the chest and slammed into its fellows before the shell exploded. Dozens of zombies fell, went flying or were simply blown to pieces. More were killed by rock slides, either crushed by falling rocks or falling themselves as the mountainside dropped out from under them. "Damn," said Duke, "you took out at least a hundred of them."

Tal nodded. Being with Columbus and later Chief Sahara had taught him to temper his enthusiasm for imaginative overkill with practical tactics and some effort to conserve ammunition. He had learned to economize. But, he thought as he mowed down a column of zombies on a ledge, they had nothing on him when it came to enjoying the job. "Look there!" Little Rock shouted, standing up to point. A large pack had found their way to the bottom of the slope, almost to the fence. He fired the grenade launcher, _pow-pow, pow-pow._ 16 of 20 zombies fell, and only 2 got up. A single grenade took care of the rest.

By now, the remaining zombies were being channeled into a single crevasse. Tal fired the other two HE shells simultaneously, killing dozens with the blasts and hundreds with collapses and rock slides. Survivors piled up behind a sudden barricade of rock, and Tal shot them with the machine guns. In the close quarters, most bullets not only hit but exited to strike a second, a third or even more. Even bullets that struck rock caused damage, either ricocheting or (more often) throwing out splinters of rock and even causing small rock slides. Three were brained by a sapling, which had been felled by just one or two hits.

Fewer than 300 zombies reached the bottom. As they went uphill once again, Tal fired a volley of bullets into the front ranks, then launched a single anti-personnel canister at 400 m range over their heads. A diffuse cloud of thousands of steel ball rained down throughout the zombies' ranks, and many that missed the first time came slapping back as ricochets off the rocks of the far slope. Even far-flung stragglers at the rear and the flanks were not safe. As the dust cleared, fewer than fifty remained. Tal gutted the largest cluster with a double-tap of the grenade launcher. Then rifles opened up, their sounds puny compared to the recoilless guns and the .50 cals, but their fire quickly brought down the last of the swarm.

Branson clapped as he walked up to the Thing. "Well done! Well-done! We could have stopped them, but it would have taken far more ammunition. Learn from his example, men. Also remember to put it in perspective: The swarm that was just destroyed is only a tenth of the group advancing against us, and that group is less than one-twentieth of the horde. Now back to your duties, we have a siege to prepare for!"


	24. Q

**This chapter is dedicated to a man named JD Jones: The ultimate argument for and against the Second Amendment.**

For the first time in a week, Columbus woke up in his wife's bed. But when he reached out, ready to repeat what they had done in the night, he found only an indent in the mattress. Then he heard her swear loudly in the bathroom, and went to see what was the matter. Wichita turned to face him. "Now, how the hell does this happen?" she said. Her jeans were undone, and when she tried to button them, the button and the slit stopped a small but decisive distance apart. "I mean, I knew this was going to happen, but I wore this same pair of pants the day before yesterday!" She kicked the pants off, launching them halfway back to the bed.

Columbus lowered a hand to a bump in her midriff. "It feels firm. Something's sticking out." He impulsively bent down and kissed where he had touched. "I love-" He raised his eyes to meet her disapproving gaze. "-This little guy already."

"Well, `he' is going to be getting in your way before too long," she said sourly. She leaned forward to rest her hands on the counter. "Well?" she said.

"Sorry." He took hold of her hips, while she bent over until her chin touched the counter. Then he closed his eyes, while she lifted hers enough to watch herself in the mirror.

Columbus showered when they were done, and when that was done he found Wichita dressed in a rumpled blouse and navy blew skirt she had worn the night before "None of my pants fit, including the ones I wore yesterday," she said succinctly. "I need you to go on a clothes run tonight." They drove to Circus Circus in the "Tremors Truck", and after signing in at the duty station, they got back in "Tremors" and drove south and east.

One of the closest landmarks to Circus Circus was the 64-story tower that was Trump Hotel. The casino had been all but demolished, but the tower was still standing, habitable and manageable to secure, though even with the dire overcrowding at Circus Circus few were willing to live there. There were no known nests, but zombies made regular appearances, including the infamous Floozie Q. Even apart from the known external threat, there was a terror of the tower. Sweeps had only covered the bottom 3 floors, and while there was little chance of zombies surviving in the higher floors, tales had peopled the upper levels with all kinds of terrors, from leper cannibals to Moth Man to Donald Trump himself, supposedly living like a real-life Richard Neville somewhere in the uppermost stories, ready to slay anyone who intruded. Almost all of the few inhabitants belonged a small garrison who kept watch on Industrial Road and provided supplies and temporary shelter to hunting parties. Then there was the man called "Q".

The Tremors Truck pulled in at a vacant lot beside the Tower, the planned site of a second tower which was never constructed. It had become a parking lot, repair shop and firing range, and in the corner was a fenced-off area with prefabricated house and adjacent sheds and tents, from which machinery could presently be heard. Columbus approached cautiously. "Hello?" he said as he walked through an open gate. "Is Q in?"

A shadowy figure moved inside a tent. "That's not what you should be asking," he said. "What you should be asking yourself is- uff- `Do you feel lucky?'" As the man stepped forward, he raised a huge, freakishly-shaped weapon recognizable on close inspection as a revolver. Then he lowered it and laughed.

"I spent three years working on this gun," Q said. "It's the most powerful handgun that has ever existed or ever will. It fires full-sized .50 BMG cartridges. I could shoot through the frontal armor of an M113 APC with this thing."

Columbus rubbed his chin. "Has anyone seen an M113 lately?"

"No," Q admitted, "but if they turn up, I'll be ready."

"Now, what about my order?"

"Well, first off I got something for the lady," he said. He held up two long clips. "These will give your Skorpion a 40 round feed. It won't fit in a standard holster, but you can carry them separately." Wichita smiled and thanked him. "As for you, it was a tall order, and not really my specialty, but I think you will like what I have."

He first held up what looked like an oversized shotgun shell on the end of a miniature pogo stick. "I call this the boing stick. This cup is loaded with 30 steel pellets. They're launched by a big spring that I got from an automotive shock, with about the same force as a black powder musket. You can reload it by replacing the cup, but you also have to recock the spring; that's what this crank is for. I figure, it's easier to fire a backup, so I made 4. Then there's these."

He picked up what looked like a pair of tommy guns made out of odds and ends from a hardware store. "I made these from commercial nail guns. They have selective fire, through the trigger: squeeze once for semiauto, hold down for rapid fire. They launch saboted 4.2 mm flechettes at low supersonic velocities, lethal to 15, maybe 20 meters. These drums each hold a hundred rounds."

"Sounds good," Wichita said, hefting one of the weapons. She fired ten rounds into a target 20 feet away. The darts struck in a tight pattern, burying themselves in a ballistic gel dummy. Columbus went to inspect the damage within the transparent gel.

"I see you noticed the best part," Q said. "These babies can get through bone, light cover, even body armor, but when they enter flesh, they deform and tumble." Most of the darts had a squashed-looking head and were bent in the middle, magnifying the damage to the dummy's simulated flesh.

"We'll take them," Columbus said, handing out several large-denomination poker chips as payment. These were the new currency of Vegas, given for services to the casino communities or in exchange for goods contributed to casino treasuries, and negotiable for same. Officially, the casinos accepted each other's chips as equivalent to their own, but an informal exchange rate favored Circus Circus chips by up to 3 to 1. Q looked happy, but not ecstatic at the fortune he had received.

"Are you sure you won't need any help?" Q said.

"You've been more than enough help already," Wichita said, kissing him lightly on the cheek in front of her surprised and definitely disapproving husband. As they walked back to the truck, she said, "So, when do we go to the hospital?"

Columbus waited to answer until they were in the truck. "The days after tomorrow," he said.


	25. siege

As the battle entered its third day, not less than 12,000 zombies had fallen to the guns of Branson's gang, but at least as many were still coming. With help from Duke and Tallahassee, Branson had turned even the non-functional vehicles into assets. A broken-down 155mm self-propelled howitzer fired from an elevated position where the ARV had deposited it. An M3 Lee tank, with its engine missing, tracks long gone and its baroque sprung-bogie suspension collapsed and rusted solid, fired its sponson-mounted 75mm gun and 37 mm turret gun into the horde from a tank transporter's flatbed trailer. The ARV moved back and forth along the perimeter, towing a 40mm anti-aircraft gun carriage whose automatic cannons devastated the ranks of the zombies.

"Breach!" Branson shouted over a bullhorn. The barbed wire fence was not particularly sturdy, as such things went: The site was a bombing range, without assets or secrets worth guarding; the fence was there to warn passerbys away, not stop determined intruders in their tracks. But, while zombies had been climbing over or crawling under at regular intervals, the fence had remained secure against a general advance, until now. Dead zombies had piled up in a wash, until they formed a ramp. Then, as rifles and machine gun picked them off trying to climb the fence, the dead hung on the fence, making it sag with their way. Finally, the fence collapsed under a wave of bodies living and dead. Bikers retreated as zombies poured in. Then the M60 tank rolled in, its main gun turned backwards, a dozer blade raised. The tank was covered in barbed wire, and a strand of razor wire was stretched out to the sides and strung between the teeth of the dozer blade. The turret swung around with the main gun at maximum depression, cutting a swath through the zombies simply by impacts with the barrel alone. The tank drove in circles, killing scores and hundreds with the wire and tracks alone. Meanwhile, a biker standing high in the commander's cupola fired the .50 cal intermittently into the crowd.

Even as the zombies were massacred, the pileup grew larger, until the breach widened. 30 meters away, a second pileup caused another breach, and soon a third breach occurred between the first two. Half a dozen zombies managed to climb onto the tank, and a seventh hung from the main gun. The driver took a wild shot with a pistol before slamming the hatch. The commander shot one with the machine gun, and killed another with a pistol as it tried to follow him down the hatch. The turret traversed, sweeping two off the hull and slamming the one climbing up the gun against two pursuers. The tank withdrew, with two zombies still clawing at the turret hatches. The main gun fired a single, massive buckshot round at the zombies running after.

The bikers retreated to a stockade of derelict vehicles around the central buildings. The zombies advanced in a solid column, straight for a single large opening. As the last bikers rode through, the Thing rolled into the path of the zombies. "Fire in the hole!" Branson shouted. All six guns fired at once, each loaded with a flechette canister. The backblasts knocked over a trailer parked 50 feet away. The damage to the horde was incalculable. The cloud of flechettes sailed over the heads of the front ranks, only to fall in a well-distributed pattern among the rest, striking anywhere from the head to the legs depending on range, scorching through flesh and often exiting to strike more zombies behind. Thousands fell, though many were not dead, but wounded, maimed or dismembered. These, the other zombies tripped over, slipped on or fell upon in lieu of prey. Bikers opened fire from atop the vehicles, mowing down the front ranks that the flechettes had bypassed. As they fell, the Thing's machine guns fired through the dwindling rows, at the zombies charging forward into the gap carved out by the flechettes.

Duke reloaded the recoilless guns, while doing his best to avoid flying casings. The zombies were regrouping, and advancing. The ARV pulled up alongside the column, still towing the AA carriage. Once again, the 40s mowed down zombies, but soon ran empty. The crew jumped onto the ARV, and the carriage was let go. Then the Thing let fly again, firing buckshot canisters one at a time as the turret traversed.

Only a couple thousand of the zombies remained, but they were spreading out more thinly, becoming more difficult targets. Then the ARV circled back, pushing what looked like the combine harvester from hell. Spiked wheels, blades and swinging chains tore through what remained of the horde.

It took the rest of the day to clear the zombies from inside the fence, but the battle was done. Branson himself gunned down the last pack with a 7.62 machine gun. Then he shook hands with Tal. "Say, where's the girl?" Branson asked.

Word went around quickly, and concern grew, until Little Rock announced herself nonchalantly as she emerged from a little lot where Branson's truck and trailer were parked. She smiled, but a troubled look was in her eyes.

Branson frowned when he found his trailer improperly latched. He drew his gun and forced the door. No one was inside. He relaxed, bur frowned when he saw a box of maps. He straightened one that stuck out, then frowned again. The label said: _Las Vegas Metropolitan Area_.


	26. Fire Break

Tallahassee feasted with the bikers, accepting drink after drink, and receiving with tears his sought-after treasure, an entire box of Twinkies. Branson smiled and nodded. "Here's to doing business together," he said. Little Rock scowled.

"Now," Branson continued, "I think we have both had just enough to drink to speak a little more freely. I think we both know Vegas cannot be saved, with or without us."

Tal nodded. "They need to keep moving and spread out. Should have a long time ago."

"Yes. The way of the barbarian. Something more to consider: The government acted at key times to preserve and expand the Las Vegas cluster. I've heard they even had military transports carry civilians into Vegas after the city was already fighting infestation."

Little Rock chimed in almost grudgingly, "Strangelove- a woman we know- came in like that. I heard her tell my sister about it."

Branson smiled with cold-blooded malice. "How is she doing? Still together with whasisname, Columbo?"

"Columbus," she said coldly. "They got married, and she's pregnant."

"Really! Quite fast, unless they got a head start. But I digress... Did you hear about Columbus, Ohio?"

"It burned to the ground," Tal said.

"No doubt it did. There are men in my crew who saw the ruins, and one swears he saw the flames. Only, the way he tells it, it was a mushroom cloud. Probably not, but thermobaric weapons- the `Mother of All Bombs', the old daisycutters- could produce something like it. But what's significant is that the government- whatever was left of it after Washington went down- definitely advised people to go to Columbus, Ohio. It was part of something openly called `Operation Fire Break', same as in the files we found. The official explanation was that civilians were being moved to secure centers, ahead of the spread of the infection. If they believed that, they were very stupid- and I don't like to assume people are stupid."

Tal flexed his jaw. "So- they turned a city into _bait_?"

"No way to know- but that would appear to account for the facts at hand. Another relevant fact: North Las Vegas is the site of Nellis Air Force Base."

"We know," Little Rock said. "I've never heard `grown-ups' talk about it, but all the other kids do. Planes and things come out of there all the time. I've seen 'em."

Tallahassee nodded, tight-lipped, and slammed his fist into the palm of his hand. "We have to warn them."

"They wouldn't listen," Branson said, sounding genuinely regretful. "Not until it is too late, and panic will kill thousands even before the horde arrives. There is another consideration: As much as one may abhor their methods, the military is clearly right in this much, that the horde must be destroyed, and that will only be feasible if they concentrate in one place."

"We can destroy the horde," Tal said. "We destroyed 50,000 just in the last few days!"

Branson shook his head. "No, we can't. Today was absolutely optimal circumstances. We won't have any of that in Vegas. Then there's the zombies themselves. Fighting ten thousand zombies in a group is not the same as fighting ten groups of a thousand each, and the difference isn't just in numbers. The more zombies there are, the smarter they act."

Tal nodded again. "So what do we do?

Branson shrugged. "I really don't know."


	27. Nightmare revisited

**Another dream chapter, with a few additional scares added. Homage is made to The Signal, a very strange variation on the general "zombie" idea, and to the Mad Gasser of Mattoon and kindred "phantom attackers".**

Wichita served Columbus an excellent meal (courtesy of Circus Circus room service) to her husband, complete with the 1997 vintage wine. "Well, everything's set," Columbus said. "We go to the hospital tomorrow. I didn't tell Sahara you're coming, though. If I had, I'm sure he would pull support. I have an understanding with the pilot, though."

Wichita sighed. "Yeah, I can't get a field assignment anymore. It's like they think being pregnant makes me crippled. And on top of that, they treat me like I'm some kind of mascot. I don't get that at all. It's not like I'm the only pregnant woman here. Other women have already had babies."

"It's different," Columbus said. "You're part of the team. Plus, we got married in the chapel, and I got you pregnant in one of the hotel rooms. It means a cycle is starting over again, and it's all happening here."

Wichita nodded and refilled his glass. "I guess I can understand that. It's still annoying. Now drink up. If I'm eating for two, you're drinking for two."

"I don't think I should," he said. "I need to be at my best for tomorrow. It won't do to go into battle with a hangover."

"Well, at least don't waste any," Wichita said. He downed the glass, and then held it out with a sheepish smile.

Wichita knew from limited but memorable experiences that alcohol was a good way to get her husband less inhibited and more amenable to certain of her requests. She thus enjoyed what soon followed even more than he did. It ended with her retiring to the bed intended for her sister, while her husband remained asleep on the couch. As she slept, she dreamed...

She wandered down the hall of their new house, toward the room that would be the nursery. She was no longer heavy, and from the nursery, crying could be heard. The crying softened as she drew nearer, and gave way to laughter. She smiled to see her husband standing by the crib. Then he looked over his shoulder, and he saw his face, pale and lesioned. "Oh god," she said, dismayed but somehow not terrified, "Austin, you're a zombie!"

He turned, and she saw the swaddled child in his arms. "No I'm not," he said, with a smile that was subtly sad. "I'm your husband. I don't want to hurt you. I love you!"

"Stop it!" she screeched, clasping her hands to the back of her neck. A small, lesioned hand reached out from the bundle and touched his chin, and he smiled. She fumbled for a gun they kept in a special spot, but it wasn't there.

"Did you hear about something they just discovered?" he said. "They know now why zombies attack people. They don't do it because the uninfected smell different. They don't do it because the virus makes them violent. They're actually no different from anyone else, except for one thing: They think that _everyone else_ is a zombie."

She had a vivid sensation of voiding on her own leg. "No. It's not possible!" she sobbed. The small hand came up again, and pulled off Columbus's nose. There was a chewing sound under the blanket.

"I'm sorry," Columbus said. With one free hand, he drew a ludicrously huge handgun- it was, in fact, Q's .50 BMG revolver- which, even in the warped physics of dreams, was obviously taxing his wrist too much to be a credible threat. As he did the best he could to point the gun at her, she lifted her own hands, and saw the lesions. Then she was reaching for him, opening her mouth. There was a shot...

With the shot, the dream was ended. She sat up, mortified to find that at least a part of the dream had been real. Then she stifled a cry when she realized a clammy hand was clasping hers. She was not comforted to see Columbus crouching beside the bed, but as she met his concerned gaze, she relented. "I had a nightmare," she said.

"I did too," he said. "Are you alright?"

"I guess, except..." She started to get up, and Columbus unsteadily rose to support her. They made their way toward the door, with him depending at least as much on her for balance as she did on him for support, and she wondered yet again how she had ever thought him weak.

"You can shower," he said, "and I'll clean up the room. Then let's go back to our bed."

"Sounds good," she said. She made her way to the main bathroom and showered, while he went back to take care of her mess. As she stepped out of the shower, she smiled at the faintest rustle on the other side. "Ready for more, lover?" she said as she opened the door. Then she screamed, slammed and locked it on a shadowy figure with a cloth cap. The door knob jiggled; she knew it could easily be forced. Her eyes settled on the cupboard under the sink. She pulled it open, and was unsurprised to find her husband's old double. "Thank you, rule #2," she muttered. With an audible "thunk", the door came ajar. Before it could open further, she blasted with both barrels.

Columbus swore as he burst in. "What did you do?" he shouted, surveying the large hole in the door and extensive damage to a dresser.

"There was a zombie... inside," she gasped. "I think it was Andy Capp." She had lost the towel she had wrapped around herself, and was impressed but disappointed to see her husband maintaining eye contact. "This house is built on the same plan as the one we almost caught him in. He could have found ways in and out just by memory."

He draped a robe over her shoulders. "Look... See any blood? Other... fluids? Prints on the carpet? There's nothing here. There never was. If there had been, you would have blown it in half." He kissed her on the cheek. "And it was pretty good shooting, too."

"You don't think I'm crazy?" she said, thinking of the irony of such a judgment from a man who would keep a loaded shotgun in the bathroom.

"People who are completely sane can still have hallucinations," he said, "especially when they've just woken up. There's a whole category called the `old hag', people who wake up paralyzed, seeing some kind of demon or monster. Sometimes there are other senses involved... There was a place called Mattoon where people swore they had been paralyzed by a man who sprayed them with gas they could smell."

"What about the door?" she said.

He shrugged. "They open or close with air currents all the time- you've seen it happen- and the wood can expand and contract. It probably got stuck before it latched- the moisture from the shower could have made the wood expand- and then a draft popped it back open."

"Okay... but please... go check." While she laid herself out in bed, Columbus went down a little hallway toward the back door. He paused to swap the shotgun for his wife's silenced Skorpion.

Scarcely a minute passed before he returned. "Nothing," he said with a smile, and snuggled chastely down beside his bride. She closed her eyes, but he surveyed the room nervously. He had neglected to mention that, while he had discovered no trace of forced entry or an intruder, he had found the back door wide open.


	28. Departure

**Another "segue" chapter... Before any Robert E. Howard fans lob complaints my way, the line about Conan being "comics" is just Little Rock's ignorance. Hey, she's 12 (or 13) AND she's a girl.**

"Tal," Little Rock whispered in the darkness, "we need to leave. Now."

"Why not wait for light?" Tallahassee said.

"Because they will see us."

"What does that matter? They aren't holding us prisoner. Acting like we're trying to sneak out could just make them mad."

"We have to go, Tal."

Tal sat up. "Did you do something?"

"I went into his trailer," Little Rock answered matter-of-factly. "I saw a map of Vegas, with stuff drawn on it. He already has a plan. It isn't to protect Vegas. It's to seal the city off, and then conquer it- probably destroy it."

"That would make sense," Tal said. As the girl's expression turned to incredulous disgust, he hurriedly continued, "The problem is getting the zombies to be in one place. If the zombies march into Vegas, he can attack from behind while they're besieging the casinos."

"Yeah- or he can wait till they're _in_ the casinos. Even if he doesn't, how do we know he'll stop at destroying the zombies?"

"He doesn't have any reason to," Tal said, sounding uneasy. "He's a businessman, not a career criminal. He knows that it does him more good to trade with Vegas than to plunder it. He gave us that whole speech about `barbarians' benefiting from commerce."

"He wouldn't _stop_ talking about it," Little Rock said. "But I'm not sure he really believes it. He has journals, Tal, stuff I don't think he lets even the gang see, but I read bits of one. You're right about him not being like the bikers, but that's not a good thing. The bikers only care about getting what they want and doing what they like. But he has ideas, and plans, and what he's thinking is crazy. He was quoting from Conan comics like they were text books, talking about civilization all being one big mistake. He wrote that the Pandemic is part of some `plan' to get rid of the mistake once and for all. He wrote over and over again that if civilization rises again, it will be in Vegas, and he isn't happy about it."

"Okay, so he's channeling Colonel Kurtz," Tal said, which got only a blank look from Little Rock. "Fine, we go. But we keep our lights on."

As the SUV pulled up to the gate, another biker came to Enid. "They're leaving," he said.

Enid nodded. "You know the orders. If they want to go, let them." The other biker nodded, but looked at him expectantly. Enid smiled. "But call out some of our guys, I'll give you names. Tell them to follow that SUV... and make it look like an accident."


	29. Arrival

"Columbus?" Wichita said. "Are you okay?"

Columbus stared out the window of the helicopter. "Yeah... Just watching the distance."

"Here they come," Melissa Strangelove said. Below were the Las Vegas Convention Center and the adjacent Hilton hotel casino, site of the largest known infestations north of Twain Avenue. Hundreds of zombies poured out, trailing after the helicopter.

"Damn!" shouted Detroit, who was serving as pilot. "There's Chucky Cheesehead and Floozie Q!" He pointed to a male zombie wearing a Packers jersey, and a female wearing nothing but a thong and a pair of pasties. "If I just had a gun, I could bag two of the most wanted."

"No, if we had guns, we could bag them," Wichita said.

The helicopter touched down on the roof of Sunrise Hospital, and Columbus, Wichita and Strangelove piled out. "Circle to keep the zombies from following us in!" Columbus said to Detroit. "Come back in an hour, no more or less!"

As the helicopter moved south and west, the swarm followed. A score came out of the hospital to join them. But twelve broke away from the swarm and moved toward a shopping center on the far side of Desert Inn Road from the hospital, at an unusually slow and even gait. As they approached, a short, stout figure even more grisly than they were themselves stepped forward. He blew a whistle three times, producing a noise so high in pitch that only the most sensitive human ears could have heard it. The zombies straightened. The figure blew three more times, this time one long whistle and two short, and pointed to a pile of boards. The zombies each picked up one. Their master blew short, long, short, and pointed toward the hospital. He finally blew long, short, long, and the zombies plodded toward the hospital, waving their boards as if in practice swings. The master turned away, but another figure, identical except for the pattern of lesions and the absence of an eye patch, followed after. At the rear, moving with an unusual furtive manner, came a zombie with a cloth cap.

"It's too dark, even with the flashlights," Wichita said. A red-tinted beam added only marginally to patches of sunlight that shone through door windows into the otherwise dark hall.

"No," said Columbus, sounding pained, "it seems that way because it's too _bright_. Patches of bright light just maximize contrast with the everything else. That's why street lights are a pig's ear." After a moment, he led the way forward. Strangelove covered him with a camera, while Wichita (notwithstanding her protests) fell back to cover the rear.

As they rounded a corner, a shape came lurching after them. Wichita shone a light in its face and fire three darts. Two were hits, one driving into an eye and another into its temple. Yet, the zombie did not fall, but lunged for her. She fired a wild spray, with one errant shot breaking against a metal door frame with a visible spark. The zombie finally went down, still thrashing enough to draw itself toward her. She took a breath, and delivered a double-tap into the base of the zombie's skull. "That was too close," she said.

"At least it's the only one," her husband said, with noticeable irritation. "Plus, forehead shots aren't as reliable as they seem, even with firearms. Remember the zombie Tal shot at that gift shop in Arizona? Better to shoot for the heart. Or just switch to a boing stick and let Melissa take the nail gun."

"No, I'll try aiming low," she said. She paused to pat the comforting weight of the Skorpion pressing against her lower back. Hasty but well-executed experiments had shown that the smell of gunpowder was indeed a strong attraction for zombies; even guns fired on the previous day had produced measurable responses. But, she wasn't worried. _ That ugly bastard said I'm the Luxor lamp of smells,_ she mused to herself, as she had before. _What's a little extra neon? _


	30. Ambush

"I think we found the way to the hyperbaric ward," Columbus said as he looked both ways down a corridor. Toward one end, the walls were charred and riddled with cracks. Toward the other end, debris ranging from plates to whole beds was strewn about, and as often as not smashed or embedded in something. Columbus turned back.

They descended the stairs, to emerge into what, after the dark corridors, was brilliant light: the sunshine from an open entrance somewhere down the corridor. Columbus belatedly donned sun glassed before peering out. "This will be our way out if anything goes wrong," he said in a pained voice. He glanced at a sign, then held out a printout of the ground floor. "Here we are- the south lobby. Around us are the labor and pediatrics wards. We should search there first... Just... stay out of the nursery and delivery rooms if we can avoid it. Just down the hall is the imaging lab, where they do x-rays, ultrasound, stuff like that. Down at the other end is the pharmacy, that's the main objective. Let's get what we can here first."

A half-hour later, they pushed a cart out the lobby entrance. On it were the basic supplies for caring for a woman and child from pregnancy through delivery, including a portable ultrasound machine. "Leave it here," Columbus said. "We can bring around the helicopter or even a ground vehicle to pick it up later." As he walked back toward the lobby, a zombie lurched into his path, from just outside the path lit by the sun. He calmly raised the nail gun, but before he could fire, the attacker struck him across the head with a board. He spun around before falling, and groaned in pain as he landed in the sunlight. The zombie raised the board for another blow. Wichita fired a boing stick, and the spray of pellets tore into its waist. It swung, though its innards were spilled at its own feet. Columbus rolled out of the way in time to dodge the blow, but was splashed with gore. The zombie dropped the splintered board and let out an eerie howl that resounded through the corridor. Then it shuffled off, to collapse with a ghastly squelch just out of sight.

"Ohio! Are you okay?" Strangelove said. Wichita only stared in silence.

"Can't... see," Columbus said. "My night vision's gone. No time for it to come back... Have to abort."

"But we need the medicine," Wichita said, her voice trembling.

Her husband squeezed her hand, and touched her abdomen. "Not enough to die for." As he struggled to his feet, the shadows of several figures darkened the corridor.

"I don't understand," Strangelove said as they retreated to deeper darkness. "What kind of zombie would swing a plank instead of trying to bite?"

"Type 2s," Wichita said.

"But they're dumb!"

"Yes," Columbus said, "but they can be trained." As he spoke, Wichita gave a stifled cry and fired eight shots into the darkess. There was a grunt, the clatter of a dropped plank and the almost simultaneous sound of a body collapsing. A face flared green in the light of an EXIT sign, and she felled its owner with four shots. More grunts came from the darkness, as more zombies stumbled over the fallen. Wichita began to spray with stuttering, semi-random bursts.

"What can I do?" Strangelove said. In answer, Columbus thrust a boing stick into her hand. She waited until the zombies coming from outside came into view, then let fly. Three fell, dead, wounded or maimed. She did not tarry long enough see a fourth zombie step out of the doorway where it had taken cover. A misshapen cloth cap was on its head.

They took a turn down an intersecting corridor. Only then did they hear a cackle, coming down from the other end of the same corridor. Columbus cried out as a clammy hand clamped down upon his arm, but it was his wife, clutching at him in cold desperation. "Austin," she whispered, "I-"

Before she could finish, a door to one side opened. All turned with weapons raised, but a voice said, "In here! I can help you!" Then they followed after a slight, blond figure, ghost-like in the white uniform of a nurse. As the door shut, the zombies closed in and began to pound at the door with their planks. The cackle rang louder still through the hospital.


	31. Alice

"You must hurry," said the nurse as she hustled deeper into the imaging lab. Behind them, the door rang with heavy blows, and a window shattered. Columbus's vision was coming back, though he had to squint to see. He gave Strangelove his nail gun and drew his remaining boing stick

"Wait!" said Wichita. "There aren't more than three or four of them out there! We can make a stand!"

"No, we can't," Columbus said. He shone his light on a metal cylinder. It was marked "O2". "Even with the nail guns, we don't fire near one of these things if we can avoid it."

Wichita followed the others to the next room, but made one last complaint: "What's a compressed oxygen tank even doing in here?"

As they disappeared, there was a hum from vibrating fixtures and tools. They resonated with the sound of an ultrasonic whistle. The pounding at the door stopped. In the corridor, five zombies turned to face an approaching figure, who wore an eye patch. It was Tweedle Dum, chief of the little clan of the Pariahs. He sniffed in irritation, as if bothered by something he could not quite put his finger (or nose ) on. He shrugged off the distraction, then blew three times. He marched further down the hall, and four zombies followed him, on a course to circle the imaging lab. The fifth turned and went the other way. It wore a cloth cap.

"Do you have a name?" Strangelove asked the nurse.

"You can call me Alice," the other woman answered.

Columbus was more to the point: "How did you stay alive in here?"

"There were more of us, not too long ago," the nurse said. "We were here when the outbreak hit. It was the same here as most every hospital: The first of the zombies, and the people they bit, were sent to the hospital. Then the patients became more zombies, and started biting us... But there were places to hide, and stores of food. The pharmacy has been the safest place."

The beginnings of a skeptical expression on Columbus's face was replaced by excitement. "Can you take us there?" he said.

"I am,"said Alice. She opened a door into a small room that led directly into another. Columbus frowned at what looked like a spot on the wall where a sign had been. He was distracted again, this time by his wife's scream. A squat figure lunged at her from the left, grabbing at her gun. She instinctively clubbed the attacker with the butt of the gun, forgetting that it was much lighter and less robust than a firearm. There was a hiss, she thought from the zombie as it stumbled two steps back. She took aim and fired, but the whip crack sound was replaced with a dull "pfft". A flechette still in its sabot bounced off the target. She realized only then that the hissing sound was air escaping the gun. Her adversary laughed, and she realized that this was not a mere zombie but a Pariah- knowable (if she had had the right knowledge) as Tweedle Dee by his two working eyes. She reached for her boing stick, but found something else first.

"Hurry!" Alice shouted. Strangelove hustled after her. Columbus turned and reached for his wife. He knew the object in her hands just in time to cover his eyes. She emptied a ten-round clip from the Skorpion, one-handed, full auto and with the stock still folded. The flash of the gun showed Tweedle Dee dive back out the door, while her fire went so high and wide rounds hit the ceiling. Then she was blinder than before. A soft giggle came from the dark. She reloaded with a forty-round clip already in her other hand. Then her husband grabbed her around the waist and pulled her toward the open door. As he reached the second door, pulling his displeased and decidedly heavy wife behind him, he turned his head at a cry of surprise from Strangelove. He turned to see the nail gun jerk from her hands and fly to the huge torus of an MRI machine. It struck with enough force to shatter the plastic casing. He fired the boing stick at the nurse, but the steel shot was pulled into the center of the giant magnet. Another chorus of cackles rang through the hospital, joined by the laughter of Alice, the third of the Pariahs.


	32. Trap

**This part of the adventure will be wrapped up in another chapter or so, then it's back to Tal and Little Rock... Incidentally, I've decided that Jack Ketch could be played by Misha Collins (Castiel of "Supernatural). I also think Emma Stone would be a decent choice to be my OC IX202C "Cass" in "the Rookie".**

"Run!" Columbus shouted. Alice cackled, and raised a titanium golf club. As she sprang, he hurled the empty boing stick. It was drawn straight to the MRI machine, and the Pariah was caught in the middle. The spring-loaded weapon drove into her shoulder, and she was carried with it back to the machine. Pinned to the electromagnet, she flailed away with the golf club, striking at a control panel.

Wichita ran out the door, the Skorpion in hand. She paused to slap a second forty-round clip into a holder that doubled as foregrip. Strangelove and Columbus followed. "We have to get back to one of the main corridors," Columbus said, "but it can't be the way we came in- oh, *." Off to their left, there was a sound of tramping feet and thudding boards as zombies charged into the lab.

After enough pounding to put dents in the electromagnet housing, Alice finally struck a particular, quite large button. An alarm sounded, and what looked like thick white smoke poured out of the machine. It was a liquid helium coolant, used to keep the electromagnet at superconducting temperatures, returning to a gas as it made contact with warm air. She dropped the club and gripped the boing stick with both hands. As she pulled, she shivered with cold.

The first of the zombies walked straight into a short burst of Skorpion fire. Wichita finally had the flash suppressor on, so there was not enough light from the gun to interfere with vision, though Columbus covered his eyes. "We can hold them off!" Wichita said.

Her husband threw the safety on their last loaded boing stick. Strangelove was trying heroically, however ineffectually, to recock another with the manual crank. "They're not the ones to worry about!" Columbus said. An arrow sailed lazily down the corridor and struck Strangelove in the leg. She cried out, as much in surprise as in pain. Wichita turned the Skorpion and fired at a half-seen figure in a doorway down the hall. Instead of kicking upward, the gun traversed left to right after the darting figure of Tweedle Dee. Just as he reached the other side of the corridor, her fire caught up with him. He staggered as he disappeared into a doorway, and there was an audible thump as he fell. Yet another cackle rang through the corridor, high-pitched, frenzied and utterly inhuman, so loudly that Columbus covered his ears.

As the magnetic field weakened, the boing stick began to wiggle in Alice's grip. Drops of condensation were freezing into ice crystals. Frostbite was developing on her fingers. Still, she twisted and pulled, like a child worrying a loose tooth.

Wichita ran after the Pariah with a wordless yell, heedless of a shout from her husband. She never saw the tripwire stretched across the hall. She fell, hard. There was a painful shock as her belly hit the floor, followed by a stunning impact as her forehead made contact. The gun dropped from her hands, and skidded and bounced into some dark recess of the lab. Tweedle Dee emerged from another door, and let out a single convulsive "HEEE!" before running through another doorway somewhere out of sight.

Columbus ran and Strangelove limped to her. "Why didn't he try to kill us?" the photographer asked.

"He got what he wanted," Columbus said as he helped Wichita to her feet. "He wounded one of us, and disarmed another. That makes it harder to run or fight... It lets them take their time."

"There must be a door to a main corridor up ahead," Wichita said. "I'm sure I herd double doors slam."

"It's going to be a trap," said Strangelove.

"Prob'ly," said Wichita, "but at least it's real bait." She looked to Columbus, and was surprised when he nodded in agreement.

"It's our best shot," he said. "Go for it, together, as fast as you can without separating. I'll be coming up behind you."

"Wait," said Wichita, "I can at least stop to get my gun."

"No," Columbus said. "Whatever happens, you can't stop. Not for anything. Now go."

"Austin?" she said. Tears were suddenly in her eyes. "I-" He thrust a finger to her lips. She put one arm around Strangelove, and they made a three-legged race for the door. As the women receded from sight, Columbus ran down the hall to the left.

With yet another pull, Alice got the boing stick and herself free. Still struggling against the magnetic field, she half-turned, and the magnet finished the job of pulling out the object out of her shoulder. She snatched up her golf club, and struck it against the machine. The shaft, brittle with cold, snapped just above the head. She turned and rushed for the door, brandishing the broken club like a crud but very functional spear.

"Someone's following us," Strangelove whispered, "and I don't think it's your husband."

Wichita slowed, then, mere feet from the double doors, looked back. "Columbus!" she called out. Then, softly but fervently: _"Austin?" _In the darkness, there was a sound like a knife being drawn from a leather sheath. Then, with a cackling cry that sounded part whooping crane and half hyena, a figure with a patch on one eye seemed to materialize out of the darkness. Already in a full run, he raised a machete at the women as they pushed too late through the doors. Then there was a loud _**KRROOINNG,**_

and Tweedle Dum toppled with a massive wound in his back. Almost directly behind the chief of the Pariahs stood Columbus, leaning out the side passage he had used to double back. As he ran to his bride, he took only the briefest, puzzled glance at a broken golf club on the floor.

Just out of sight, Alice silently struggled in a chokehold of what she had taken for a zombie, until she saw the Union Jack on his shirt. "Ain't payback a bloody c'nt?" Jack Ketch hissed cheerfully.


	33. The Good, The Bad And Andy Capp

**Here's a moment I've been working up to... **

In the MRI room, the temperature continued to fall. New droplets began to forms, not of water but of liquid oxygen. A runnel of the stuff ran down like a tear from the damaged, flickering control panel. Already, tiny crystals were forming out of the puddles on the floor.

"Come on!" Columbus said.

"What did you do?" Wichita said, less as a question than a demand.

"I knew one of them would follow us," he said patiently. "But the only way to get him in the open was to make it look like I'd abandoned you. I'm sorry, I wish I could have told you... Now we have to get out of here, now!"

"But- how did you sneak up on it-?" She shrieked as the stirring Pariah grabbed hold of her boot and bit into the leather. Strangelove stepped in. She planted the tip of the boing stick to the side of Tweedle Dum's head and pulled the trigger. The weapon was neither loaded nor fully cocked, but the force of the striker plate was enough to knock the remaining eye out of his skull. Columbus's female companions needed no further encouragement to hurry for the exit. He looked back as they rounded a corner, thinking he heard the lab doors open. But all he saw was the doors swinging shut, as if _behind _someone.

"I'm not nice, said Jack Ketch conversationally, "but I'm not cruel. I won't kill you unless I have to, and if I do I'll give you a nicer death than you would have given me. And just so you don't have to die uneasy, I'll answer the question I know you're asking: How did I get the drop on you, and how did the Samaritan got Dum?" He sniffed. "It's that damn _smell_. _Her_ smell. Here, take another whiff. That's the smell of new life. It's the smell of the end of you, and them, and me, too. And me, I don't mind. Mine's not to inherit the Earth. I just clean up the mess.

"Now here's what you can do, as long as I'm letting you breath: Call Tweedle Dee. I know you can. Get him away from her, and I don't care what happens after that." He eased his hold a little more. In response, she threw back her head in literal shrieks of laughter, which grew louder still as he swore. "You _did_, you little- well, I'd better be going, so I'll still make it quick." As he spoke, he snapped her neck.

Columbus covered the last 30 feet to the exit with Strangelove in a fireman's carry. When he reached the cart, he transferred her to it, making her ride with her feet on the bottom and her hands gripping the ultrasound machine on top. "What are you waiting for?" Wichita shouted as she caught up.

Her husband was gasping for breath. "I swear," he panted, "I just heard the Skorpion go off."

The leper hurried down the hall, but almost fell as he crossed an intersecting passage whose floor was covered with ice. As he was struggling to regain his balance, he ducked under an incoming crossbow bolt, which sailed on into an eerie white mist that was quickly spreading through the hall on his right. Looking to the left, he saw Tweedle Dee advancing with crossbow raised. He dived out of the way and went sliding further down the hall. The Pariah peered around the corner, chuckling as he took aim. Then there was a mechanical chattering and whistling of the suppressed (but not wholly silenced) Skorpion. Tweedle Dee fell with a strangle cry. Ketch looked over his shoulder to see the shooter, little more than a silhouette but easily recognizable by the cloth cap. "Andy Capp, you SOB," he said as he scrambled to his feet. Capp halted, chittering in displeasure. Ketch smiled. "Yeah, that little thing is a lot to handle, isn't it?" There was a click as the zombie found the selector switch. "Aw-" He exited the hall just ahead of a double-tap, triple-tap volley of bullets.

Columbus pulled the cart, cargo and passenger down an exit ramp, while his wife (turned around to take advantage of her increasingly ample hips) pushed. She looked back, searching for any hint of activity within the hospital. She got more than she bargained for as Jack came hurtling out of the darkness so quickly she had to redouble her speed to keep him from running into her. As he hurtled through the door, she finally heard his shout: _"Runrunrunrunrunrunrunrunru-!"_

Andy Capp let out a gutteral _ukh_ at the site of Tweedle Dee's twitching carcass, and an _eek_ at the bristling cold and strange mist advancing from the other direction. Then he cried _AKK_ at an even eerier sight: Behind him, Tweedle Dum was advancing sightlessly. The zombie ran past the sightless Pariah, too fast for him to do more than grasp tentatively as he brushed by. Capp exited the way he had entered, while Tweedle Dum lurched forward, finally halting and turning as if to stare at the approaching mist.

In the MRI room, a spark shot out from the control panel.


	34. Exit strategy

While mishaps with MRI machines are common, one of them exploding is a rare occurrence, and doing so while inside the hospital was completely unprecedented. Thus, the blast which gutted Sunrise Hospital was a one-of-a-kind event, to which there were unfortunately (for science and journalism) no direct witnesses. It would be judged most probable that concentrated oxygen, created by cooling from a release of liquid helium coolant, caused or greatly magnified a fire in the machine's circuitry. This, in turn, led to a failure of the machine shell and an instant release of the remaining helium, which displaced the liquid oxygen. The immediate result was a massive shockwave that shattered every window, scattered pieces of the machine through most of the hospital, damaged masonry, ignited secondary fires and explosions with displaced oxygen and made support beams buckle and bend like Dali's stopwatch. This was followed almost immediately by an enormous backdraft that sent a miniature mushroom cloud through the roof. Then, slowly but surely, the building collapsed.

The party made it into an adjacent clinic just as the windows shattered, and were thus sheltered from the worst effects of the blast. There was a steady patter of falling debris, and dust and smoke hung in a thick fog outside.

"Could any of the Pariahs have made it out?" Columbus said.

Ketch shook his head. "No. They were all down before I left. I took care of Alice myself, while she was coming up behind you, by the way. Don't you have _any_ sense of smell?"

"Well, how was I to know she should steal a nurse's uniform?" Columbus said defensively.

"Steal?? She _was_ a nurse!"

Wichita looked between her husband and Jack Ketch and demanded,"You have to tell me, now, what happened in there?" Her angry tone left little doubt that she knew the answer well enough.

It was Columbus who spoke: "When you were around, the Pariahs couldn't take full advantage of their sense of smell. They couldn't tell him apart from their trained zombies, or detect me coming up behind."

"You smell," Ketch said apologetically. "Nothing personal."

Wichita's shoulders heaved with deep breaths. "That's why you told him to bring me along," she said coldly. Turning to her husband, she continued, "And _you_ figured it out, and then you let me come anyway." She finished in a sudden crescendo: _"You used a pregnant woman as BAIT!!" _

Ketch scratched his head. "Well... technically speaking, you were more like a duck blind."

Wichita punched her husband in the breast bone, with enough force to make him stagger and cough. "I'm going to make you pay. Next time I have you in bed, it's going to hurt, it's going to be disgusting, and I'm going to make you _like _it." She whirled around to Jack Ketch, who had just decided to mosey over to the door. "And you, you disgusting piece of – Oh, yeah, you'd better cut and run, because if I ever see you again, I'll-"

"They're coming," Strangelove said. Her soft, calm words were enough to silence Wichita. The helicopter was approaching, and the zombie swarm was following Figures were emerging from the cloud. Scores. Hundreds. All were headed directly for the front door. Columbus and Wichita threw the locks, and overturned a receptionist's desk to block the doors. Two tanks from the water cooler were set down against the desk for further resistance. Columbus tore down a five-foot curtain rod and wielded it like a pike. Wichita wound and reloaded the boing stick Strangelove shouted to the leper: "Ketch! What can we do?"

He turned back just long enough to say: "Keep her alive as long as you can. I think you'll find things will work out in the end."

As the zombies came into view, they went from marching to jogging, so that they hit the doors at a run. Glass shattered, and soon hands were pushing at the desk. Wichita fired the boing stick, while Columbus clubbed and thrust with the rod, but the onslaught continued, and the desk was pushed slowly back. Behind them, there was the sound of a rear entrance opening. Columbus swore and turned in time to swing at a zombie emerging from a dark corridor. The zombie ducked, and the rod broke against the wall. Only then did he register the Packers jersey. "Chucky Cheesehead!" he exclaimed. He thrust out the rod as Chucky lunged, and impaled the Apostate on the jagged end. Chucky only pushed his way closer, until Wichita struck him on the ear with a fire extinguisher. "That," Wichita muttered to Strangelove, "is why he needs me." One of the tanks tipped over, and the desk began to slide back faster on the left side. A zombie slid between the desk and the wall. Wichita turned to her husband with tears in her eyes. "Austin, I-"

"Tell me later," he said. With a thrust, he pinned the zombie to the wall Suddenly, the zombies' advance faltered. The helicopter circled directly overhead, distracting them and throwing their ranks into disorder. Then there was a sound of approaching trucks, and gunfire. A score of vehicles pulled up, not just from Circus Circus but from Sahara Casino, Treasure Island and even the Freemont Street Alliance. The besieging zombies were quickly encircled, by the vehicles and by a hundred men who laughed as they fired at will.

Wihin half an hour, Columbus spoke to Chief Sahara amid the carnage. "We figured, as long as this many zombies were in the open, we ought to use the opportunity," the Chief said. "We sent out a request for assistance, and, well, things sort of snowballed." He chuckled. "I'll tell you the damnedest thing. Three of my deputies saw Andy Capp walk out of the hospital just before it blew. One of them swears he was carrying some kinda pistol." Wichita put her head in her hands.


End file.
